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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23608990">Off to the Races (keep me forever/tell me you want me)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoflosgar/pseuds/losgar'>losgar (ladyoflosgar)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>crapsack modern westeros au [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Approach Anxiety, Awkwardness, Background Relationships, Crapsack Modern Westeros, Dark Humor, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual References, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Horse Racing, Insider Trading, Modern Westeros, Nasty Degenerate Male Thoughts, Preppy people being snobs, Social Media Creeping, minor Harry/Saffron, minor Mychel/Mya</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:35:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,598</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23608990</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoflosgar/pseuds/losgar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He was on Tinder. His profile said - Dom, 22. Citadel of Gulltown. Less than 1 mile away. We match and you message first, we go to your place, ????, and I pay you 20 dragons. Then I block your number. I message first, it’s one true love and I’ll never let you leave. No I’m not a serial killer. That’s my half brother.</p><p>She swiped right. He super liked her. She didn't message him.</p><p>A Modern Westeros AU where Domeric and Sansa are preppy citadel acolytes who awkwardly dance around each other before going on a date at the Gulltown Derby. Inspired by Lana Del Rey's music and aesthetic.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Domeric Bolton/Sansa Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>crapsack modern westeros au [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882534</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. a freshmen generation of degenerate beauty queens</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/21515098">the domeric x sansa modern au premise no one wants to read (someone else write this please)</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoflosgar/pseuds/losgar">losgar (ladyoflosgar)</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy Easter Everyone! :) </p><p>This is a just for fun and really silly AU that I am using to blow off steam. It is a preppy!AU because I went to boarding/prep school and it's better to write what you know (says the person writing fanfic about a crapsack fantasy universe with dragons).</p><p>One thing I am trying to think about is how Westeros might have been projected forward into the future and how its society might look if it was modernized. If GRRM made a pastiche late medieval/pre-modern Europe, this is a pastiche 21st century First World. So instead of "college" I am using the word "citadel", etc. Unfortunately I don't know where to start translating app names into "Common Tongue" so those just got imported wholesale.</p><p>Updates will be sporadic and unscheduled.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>He was on Tinder. His profile said - <em>Dom, 22. Citadel of Gulltown. Less than 1 mile away. We match and you message first, we go to your place, ????, and I pay you 20 dragons. Then I block your number. I message first, it’s one true love and I’ll never let you leave. No I’m not a serial killer. That’s my half brother.</em></p><p>The first picture was the kind all the scowly gym bros had. The barechested mirror selfie. The kind that said, <em>I lift heavy on Warsday nights while blasting opera and ignoring you. </em>The next picture was him in a tux, on a stage, standing next to a harp in the spotlight. <em>WYMAN MANDERLY MEMORIAL AUDITORIUM. </em>It was taken in White Harbor.That picture said, <em>I’m great, see? Classy. Everyone’s clapping.</em> </p><p>The next one. Astride a chestnut stallion, tight white breeches - the breeches said<em> yes I’m hung - </em>riding boots, mallet. He played polo. <em>EYRIE PREP </em>crewneck sweater, white on sky blue, rolled up to the elbows. No helmet, and a megawatt smile. <em>I know how to have fun. </em></p><p>The next one. A collage of 4 photos. The Eyrie Prep hockey team. He’d circled himself in hot pink in each of them. #66. Who cares about high school anyway? <em>I do, </em>she thought<em>. </em>She’d gone to Kings’ Landing Academy, and Eyrie Prep was one of seven schools in the Seven Kingdoms that could be considered its equal.</p><p>The next picture. He was posing with another man in the woods. A hunting trip. It must have been his dad. Matching camo jackets. Matching pink shooting earmuffs. Matching pink rifles. Robb could tell her what kind of gun that was.</p><p>The last picture was an old one. He must have been eight. He was hugging a thin woman in a hospital gown. She was beautiful. Brown hair, brown eyes. His mom. She was probably dead. Why else would you put that on your Tinder profile.</p><p>She swiped right. She was 18 and it was the first day of spring semester.</p><p>He super liked her. She didn’t message him.</p><p>***</p><p>The third day of spring semester she got an email. FROM: The Office of the Provost for Acolyte Affairs. TO: acolytelisterv-all. SUBJECT: A Message from Provost Clovis Spicer. <em>Acolytes, earlier this week we became aware of an incident of acolyte misconduct which took place over winter break on an off-campus property. In the interest of privacy, we have chosen to withhold any details which could identify the parties involved. However, acolytes should rest assured that our administration is working tirelessly to ensure that such unacceptable behavior is identified and punished whenever it occurs in our community. In response to these events and in accordance with our values, we ask all community members – acolytes, novices, seneschals, maesters, archmaesters, and support staff…</em></p><p>Her eyes widened as she scrolled but when they reached Provost Clovis Spicer’s jpeg signature they closed. <em>No, </em>she thought. <em>They’ve disbanded Lords &amp; Ladies. </em>Not officially, but that’s what it meant. <em>All acolyte organizations must be open to all community members regardless of ethnicity, gender, socioeconomic status, or geographic origin. Gulls welcome each other!</em></p><p>Lords &amp; Ladies did not welcome all Gulls. Lords &amp; Ladies was for acolytes from old families. Old families meant old money, old blood, old names. Lords only took <em>fine young men of gentle breeding and the noblest Westerosi pedigree. </em>Ladies was the same. <em>Bright-eyed maidens of gentle breeding and the noblest Westerosi pedigree. </em>Lords &amp; Ladies were exclusive on each of ethnicity, gender, socioeconomic status, and geographic origin. If Lords &amp; Ladies started taking just anybody, they wouldn’t be the same. They wouldn’t be <em>exclusive.</em> They would be just another smallfolk guild, and the smallfolk guilds were for <em>everyone</em>.</p><p>It was better to disband than to take just anybody. Than to be for <em>everyone.</em></p><p>FW: TO: Mom, Dad, Robb. <em>No more Lords &amp; Ladies at Gulltown!!! </em>☹☹☹</p><p>Her phone began to buzz. It was the Ladies groupchat. Randa let her into Ladies – and the Ladies groupchat - in the fall semester because she was Sansa <em>Stark</em>, and her father was Eddard <em>Stark</em>, and her mother was Catelyn <em>Tully. </em>Robb <em>Stark </em>was her brother, and he was the Lord Protector at Citadel of White Harbor. The Starks and the Tullys were the oldest of old families – old money, old blood, old names. First Men. Sansa was half Stark, half Tully, and that meant she was a bright-eyed maiden of the <em>gentlest</em> breeding and the <em>noblest</em> of Westerosi pedigree. <em>Sansa</em> got to join Ladies in the fall, while the likes of Cynthea Frey and Ellyn Egen and Annette Waynwood had to wait until the spring.</p><p>&gt;RANDA👙: Don’t panic ladies! Mama Randa will get to the bottom of this!</p><p>&gt;Mya B 🧗♀️: It’s going to be OK!</p><p>&gt;Cassandra Redfort: 🙏🏻 🙏🏻 🙏🏻</p><p>&gt;~Ysilla~: Don’t bother. It was Harry</p><p>&gt;RANDA👙: Yes we all know it must have been Harry but I don’t have all the details yet</p><p>Her phone kept buzzing. Someone was going to suggest that the Ladies could appeal to the administration to stay together. The Ladies were innocent of whatever Harry had done to get the Lords kicked off campus. But that someone would be shut up quick and rightly so. If the Lords were out, the Ladies were too. There was no point in being the Ladies without the Lords.</p><p>7:47am. She was going to be late for her 8am. No time for coffee either, <em>fie. </em>She grabbed her bookbag – cowhide straps from Lys, weatherproof polyamide canvas body, <em>Stark white –</em> and started out the door.</p><p>Her phone dinged. FROM: Mom. RE: FW. TO: Me. No CCs. <em>It will be all right, sweetheart. You can still meet a nice boy. </em></p><p>Mom and Dad had met at a Lords &amp; Ladies mixer after Dad had transferred from Gulltown to White Harbor after Uncle Brandon died. <em>To be closer to home, </em>he’d always said. <em>For your Uncle Ben.</em> Dad ended up hanging out with Mom more than visiting Uncle Ben at Barrowton-Rills Day &amp; Boarding.</p><p><em>I’m not going to citadel for an M.R.S., Mom. I’m going for my education. </em>That’s what she said after the KLA commencement. Senior convocation night. She was going for the photo ops. The experience. <em>I’m done with boys forever after Joffrey.</em></p><p>
  <em>You say that now, dear.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>OK, Mom.</em>
</p><p>Her 8am was <em>Chivalry and Capital: The Narrow Sea Trade Economy and the Fall of the Age of Honor. </em>It was cross-listed in the course catalogue under the Economics and History departments. An eight-person seminar, seventy-five minutes every Warsday and Maidsday. It was a 300-level history course but a 200-level economics course. Her advisor said it would count towards both. It was on the first floor of the Hall of the Humanities, one of the oldest buildings at CoG. HumHall had a great stained-glass dome on the roof, the same colors as the dome at the Motherhouse of Maris but without any of the angels. The dome was an airy rainbow rose, and it filled the HumHall Aviary Atrium with rainbow light, casting the taxidermy gulls and albatrosses and kestrels in seventy-seven colors. In the back by the Melcolm Reading Room was <em>Dohaera</em> café, where she could get a 16oz fair trade Sothoryos black for five dragons and munch on a artisanal sandwich-salad combo by the Port of Gulltown Millennium Mural.</p><p>She had to skip past Melcolm and its plush green couches and straight-back hardwood chairs. She liked to sit there in the mornings and sip her coffee while staring up at Valyrian Restoration-era portraits of stuffy old archmaesters with curly white wigs. Her seat was at a cherrywood table under Archmaester Gordon, formerly of House Penrose, with her back at the window and her view at the ornately carved cherrywood doors. No <em>Dohaera </em>this morning either. It was 7:56am.</p><p><em>Chivalry and Capital </em>was in the Wickenden Seminar Room at the northeast corner of HumHall. Burnt orange walls, one rectangular cherrywood table, a ceiling-high bookcase with glass sliding doors, and a portrait of Ser Jon Wickenden XXIII by the window overlooking the High Quadrangle Green and the Oswell Waxley Library. She opened the door.</p><p><em>I’m not late. There are only two other people here. </em> </p><p>“Hi Wallace,” she said. Wallace Waynwood was another freshman. He was a civil engineering major and one of the only guys she talked to for anything not related to class. Most other guys leered or leched or stared. Wallace just looked down. Not so much anymore. He could look at her when he talked now.</p><p>Wallace was old blood too. His nephew Roland, a senior, was Lord Protector at CoG, but Wallace still had to wait until spring to be let into Lords. Now he’d never be let in, unless he transferred, but he would never transfer. Waynwoods went to Gulltown.</p><p>“Hi S-s-sansa,” Wallace said, looking up from his books. Many years and thousands of dragons spent on language pathology therapy hadn’t managed to kill Wallace’s speech impediment. He had a neurological condition.</p><p>The other person in the room was staring at a silver FossBook Pro in a hot pink case. 13inch. A five-year old model that Foss didn’t make anymore. It had three decals on it. The first was a bumper sticker for the Barrowton-Rills Polo Club. Black block letters, a red horse, gold outline, white background. The second sticker was the Lords &amp; Ladies national logo. The crossed scepter and orb in the crown of seven spikes each topped with a seven-pointed star. Black on white for Lords. Ladies was the reverse. White on black. The last sticker was two white letters in a sky-blue oval. EP. Eyrie Prep.</p><p><em>Gods be good. What am I wearing? Did I put on my perfume? </em>She swallowed.</p><p>It was Domeric Bolton.</p><p>He was sitting across from Wallace, his back to the window, facing the door. Or the clock above the door. Facing her. His eyes were on his laptop screen but they flicked up at her, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward in what might have been a smile.</p><p>“Good morning,” he said. His voice was soft but it was deep and even like a talk show host on old school radio. The sound of it made the hairs on her arms stand up underneath her blue quilted jacket. And it went straight to her –<em> no, don’t use that word, ladies don’t use that word</em>.</p><p>He had muscular forearms and fine hands. Strong palms and long fingers and neatly trimmed nails. Not that much hair on them, but what hair was there was dark. Like the hair on his head. Neat and parted to the right. He had an undercut. A crisply pressed pale pink dress shirt rolled up to the elbows.</p><p>“Hello,” she said. Too breathy. Too much vocal fry. Her voice said <em>I’m easy</em> and Mom always told her that wasn’t something ladies were supposed to say.</p><p>His eyes were so pale. <em>Don’t use that word</em>. The tingling wouldn’t stop. <em>This dress is cotton gabardine, it’s not supposed to be hot. </em>Maybe it was the tights. They were cheap. Or the Hunter boots. Hunter boots weren’t cheap, but they made her feet run hot.</p><p>He held her gaze for maybe two seconds before snapping his laptop shut, rummaging under the table for his backpack, and pulling out one of the books for class. <em>The Iron Bank and the Foundations of the Modern World.</em> Then there was a black pen, a red pen, a pink highlighter and a red spiral notebook and he didn’t look back up.</p><p>She sat next to Wallace.</p><p>“Did you get the email?” she said. <em>Fie.</em> The whole citadel got the email. That sounded really stupid. He was sitting right there.</p><p>“Y-y-yeah,” Wallace said.</p><p>“Do you know what happened?”</p><p>“I – n-n-n-not yet. I – h-h-have to t-t-talk to R-r-roland.” But then Wallace looked at <em>him</em>. “D-d-dom might know th-th-though.”</p><p>Of course he would know. Domeric Bolton was on the Gulltown Lords small council. He was the Master of Laws. He opened his mouth but then the door hinge squeaked. The remaining five acolytes filtered in the room. Smallfolk. They didn’t need to hear.</p><p>Archmaester Helliweg didn’t arrive until 8:13am. Two minutes before they could safely presume class was cancelled and leave. It went the same as any other first day of the semester class could be expected to. Hand out the syllabus. Talk about the course. Introductions. <em>Hello, I’m Sansa Stark! I’m a freshman and I’m a history major! I live in Woodhull Hall and I went to KLA. </em>What’s KLA. <em>King’s Landing Academy. It’s a prep school. I sing a capella and one of my weird hobbies is I like ballroom dancing! </em>She had it memorized.</p><p>
  <em>My name is Domeric Bolton. I am a senior. My majors are history and economics. I love horses and, uhhh, I play the harp.</em>
</p><p><em>Chivalry and Capital </em>was her new favorite class.</p><p>Archmaester Helliweg left first. The Archmaesters always left first. He shuffled out the door, favoring his left foot. His stack of books must have been a foot tall. Truly an absent-minded maester if you ever saw one. She waited until all the smallfolk were gone before she turned to Wallace again.</p><p>“So – about what happened – ”</p><p>“S-s-sansa – Roland d-d-didn’t t-t-tell me yet - ”</p><p>“Can you check your phone - ”</p><p>“Saffron,” he said.</p><p>“Oh,” Wallace said.</p><p>“Keep it quiet,” he said.</p><p>“Yes, ser,” Wallace said.</p><p>He was packing up his things. A black canvas backpack with red cowhide reinforcements. <em>The Iron Bank</em> book. The red spiral notebook, the pens, the highlighter. The old model FossBook in the pink case.</p><p>“Wallace,” he said. “You don’t have to get here so early. Helliweg never shows up earlier than ten after.”</p><p>“Th-th-there’s n-n-nothing to do after r-r-reserve gets out and I’m d-d-done with b-b-breakfast.” All Lords were expected to train with the military reserve corps concurrently with their studies.</p><p>“Suit yourself,” he said. He might have looked at her for a moment, but then he was looking at Wallace again. He cleared his throat and the apple bobbed beneath his sharp jaw.</p><p>“Right,” Wallace said. Packed, Wallace rose, put his hands on the back of her chair. She nodded. He pulled it out for her. She stood. He picked up her coat and helped her into it.</p><p>“Thank you, Wallace,” she said. She turned to look at him.  “Bye,” she whispered.</p><p>He might have said <em>bye</em> back, but she was sure she saw a nod.</p><p>“Wh-wh-where are you going next, S-s-sansa?” Wallace said.</p><p>“Intro to Formal Logic,” she said. Logic was in the Numerology and Natural Sciences quad. It was cross-listed between the Mathematics and Philosophy departments, and it didn’t feel like math at all.</p><p>“I’m going to m-m-mat sci,” Wallace said.</p><p>“I’ll walk with you,” she said. The Engineering quad was next to the Numerology and Natural Sciences quad. “Saffron?”</p><p>“D-d-dom said to k-k-keep it qu-qu-quiet, Sansa – ”</p><p>“Come on, Wallace – ”</p><p>Wallace stopped abruptly after breaking off to the side the staircase connecting the High Quadrangle Green to the N and E quads.</p><p>“O-k-k-kay Sansa. S-s-saffron Spicer. You kn-kn-know. Harry’s g-g-girlfriend.” She didn’t know. She knew who Harry Hardyng was – he wasn’t a member of the Lords’ small council but might as well have been – but she didn’t know he’d had a girlfriend. She hadn’t cared about any guy’s girlfriend during fall semester.</p><p>“I didn’t know –”</p><p>“I h-h-have to k-k-keep it quiet. H-h-Harry’s my cousin. If you w-w-want to know m-more ask R-r-randa. She’ll tell you. She kn-kn-knows everything, eventually. L-l-let’s talk about something else.”</p><p>Fine. They talked about homework.</p><p>***</p><p>On Maidsday she left Woodhull at 7:29am. She got up early and paid extra attention to her clothes. The striped boatneck sweater, navy on white. The stripes made her boobs look good. Randa said so. White toothpick pants and tan leather riding boots. You weren’t supposed to wear white before the Feast of the Warrior but if you looked good enough you could break the rules. The white pants and the riding boots said <em>I like horses too. </em>And they made her butt look <em>really</em> good. Randa said that too.</p><p>She spritzed her perfume against her collarbones. <em>GODSGRACE </em>by Allyrion. The <em>Allure</em> collection. Lavender, lemon, and hot Dornish sunshine. Her bag was packed and she was out the door.</p><p>She wasn’t late so she could focus on her walk. Shoulders back, core tight, chin up. Nose in the air. Feet parallel. Don’t swing your arms. <em>Walk like a queen. Straight lines, smooth lines only. </em>Marge had taught her to walk that way at KLA when they were freshmen. It was just a bit different than how Mom taught her to walk.</p><p>There was enough time for her 16oz fair trade Sothoryos black at <em>Dohaera. </em>She took the first sip standing at the cream and sugar counter next to the Port of Gulltown Millennium Mural. A few more sips to get the coffee level low enough so it wouldn’t splash and stain while she was walking. By the time she reached the Wickenden room she was jittery.</p><p>“Hi, Wallace,” she said. Wallace was wearing a sky-blue Eyrie Prep hoodie.</p><p>“Hi S-s-sansa.”</p><p>“Hello,” she whispered.</p><p>“Good morning.” He wasn’t sitting across from the door today. He was sitting two away from Wallace. Her heart leapt. <em>Next to me??? </em>She felt her face get hot. Her chest. More coffee jitters. Maybe just 12oz next time. Or decaf.</p><p>He was wearing a sky-blue E letterman sweater. Knit lambswool, rolled up to the elbows, to show his muscular forearms. She didn’t know what they put in men’s cologne but his smelled <em>amazing</em>. So did his laundry detergent. He and Wallace exchanged a look and they both stood up. Wallace nodded, and Domeric cleared his throat. That apple bobbed again and made the short stubble on his neck change angles. She put her bag on the floor and he helped her out of her coat. The chair made a scraping sound against the black and white square tiles when he pulled it away for her after draping her coat on the back. The scraping sound was worse when he pushed it back in.</p><p>“Thank you,” she said.</p><p>“Yeah,” he said. That was one more word that he said to her than last time. <em>Progress!</em> He sat back down.</p><p>His whirry old laptop was open. He was reading the news. <em>7K Racing dot com. </em><em>Ryswell Seeks Seven Crowns: 4-Way Race for Evenfall Title Ends in Sentinel Seventy-Nine Victory. </em>He scrolled down past a photo and some text to the next subtitle. The trackpad wasn’t that responsive, so his first two fingers kept going back and forth on it. <em>A Favorite Upset: Tyrell’s Garden Green Gala Locked Out by Sandy Dreamy Daze and Frightening Lightning. </em>The photo was of Marge’s grandmother and older brother Willas making the same disdainful scowl in their box. Green straw hat, gold ribbon, golden roses for the Queen of Thorns, a Kelly-green suit with a golden rose pattern for Willas. Straw boater hat green ribbon gold leaf cane and leg braces. They crossed their arms the same way Marge did.</p><p>“You said you like horses,” she started. Maybe he’d say more words to her.</p><p>“I said I <em>love </em>horses.” He turned to face her and his eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead. His eyes widened into mini moons on his face, the dark pupils pulsing in and out and fixing on her. His teeth were straight and white and shiny. <em>That’s definitely a smile!!!</em></p><p>Wallace sighed, and unlike his speech, his sigh was smooth and uninterrupted. A sigh with a stutter was a shudder. “You d-d-don’t know w-w-what you did,” Wallace whispered.</p><p>She ignored Wallace. “Yeah?” she said. Too much coffee made it hard to word sometimes.</p><p>“Look at this,” he said. He scrolled back up to the photo under the headline. “That’s my grandfather,” he said. “My pop-pop.” <em>Rodrik Ryswell, owner/breeder/trainer </em>stood holding up a sapphire-studded trophy. His patched brown suit looked a bit too big for him, and his red tie was a bit frayed. He was beaming up at a sweaty, laughing jockey in black and gold and red chevronny silks. KLA colors, but Barrowton-Rills colors too.</p><p>“And that’s my uncle. Roose. The jockey.”</p><p>“Your uncle looks pretty young,” she said. “For an uncle.”</p><p>“He’s 25,” he said. “He was a surprise. After my parents’ wedding. Pop-pop named him after my dad.” An awkward silence. She didn’t comment on how weird that was.</p><p>“Are they gonna win?” she said. “The Seven Crowns.” The article said it had only been done twice before. The last was more than a hundred years ago.</p><p>“Of course,” he deadpanned. “Hells yeah they’re gonna win.”</p><p>“Fairmarket is next?”</p><p>“Gulltown’s next.”</p><p>“Oh.” She stopped talking. She’d made a stupid mistake. That was okay because he didn’t seem to notice. He brushed over it and started lecturing on about how the order of the Seven Crowns <em>used </em>to be different. Crakehall <em>used</em> to be after Sunspear and Fairmarket before Gulltown. Now the order was Crakehall, Oldtown, Sunspear, Evenfall, Gulltown, Fairmarket, Barrowton, and the Seven Crowns was one series instead of several different ones, and that was the new order because reasons, and those reasons had to do with the history of transportation. And innovations in horse transportation. It was a lot, but she didn’t care because he was sitting next to her and gesturing with his hands and grinning at her and he smelled amazing and he was just the coolest guy she’d ever met and she’d only spoken to him twice. She smiled and nodded.</p><p>Her face felt hot. Everything felt hot. He was <em>really hot</em>.</p><p>She crossed her legs under the table and her heart stopped. Slick yucky moist, <em>gross</em>. Oh<em> no. Oh no oh no oh no. </em>Her pants were white. What day was it. It wasn’t supposed to be today, didn’t it come less than two weeks ago? <em>No. How. No.</em></p><p>“I’m sorry,” she interrupted. He was still talking about the history of transportation. “Excuse me.” His mouth closed, and then opened, and his face was falling and she didn’t want to if he was going to frown so she grabbed her coat off the back of her chair and tied it around her waist and stood and snatched the wolf patterned pouch out of her bookbag and sped off to the bathroom.</p><p>Her hands shook as she checked. <em>Mother above, please, I like this thong and I love these pants</em>. It must have just started because there wasn’t a stain yet. Or maybe it hadn’t started at all. She had to check.</p><p>No red. She pulled her thumb and first two fingers apart. Warm, clear and stretchy like snot from springtime allergy sniffles.</p><p><em>Oh. </em>Still gross, but no need to panic.</p><p>He was just <em>really hot.</em></p><p>She’d left her phone in her bookbag so she looked at her no-it’s-not-just-decorative wristwatch. It was 8:08am. She sighed. She wasn’t going to be late.</p><p>***</p><p>“Are you sad?” she asked him, as he was helping her into her coat. “About what happened. The email. It’s your senior spring.”</p><p>She couldn’t see his face but she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. “It’s not like it’s the Long Night or anything.” He didn’t sound sad.</p><p>“You’re right,” she said. “Thank you.”</p><p>***</p><p>In her single that night she wrapped her self in her comforter and opened her laptop. Homework gym shower dinner, <em>done.</em> She would have to look at Facebook again instead of just Messenger. Instagram too. Her Instagram was private. It had been since prom. She hadn’t looked at it for months. She hadn’t added anyone on Facebook either. Not since she’d blocked Joffrey on everything the day after prom. It was nice being offline.</p><p>Too many notifications. Too many friend requests. She didn’t care about any of them, she wanted to add Domeric Bolton as a friend. In the search bar he came up right away. Friends with Robb Stark, Margaery Tyrell and 10 others. <em>Huh</em>.  Confirm Friend Request. <em>Oh</em>.</p><p>He showed up in the chat bar. He was online. A little green dot by his name. She didn’t click on it. <em>Message me first and I block you. </em>She didn’t want to be blocked.</p><p>His cover photo was a candid shot of match between the Barrowton-Rills and Lannisport Polo Clubs. He was #1.  His profile picture was him in a suit of armor in front of what must have been the Gull Tower. Black plate, red enamel, pink cloak. Bolton colors. No helmet. Sweaty hair. It Westeros History Week from last spring.</p><p>Lords &amp; Ladies and the smallfolk guilds’ national organizations each had a signature charitable cause. Lords &amp; Ladies worked with the Westeros Trust for Historic Preservation’s childhood education program, History for Kids. Their fundraising hauls helped sponsor art and essay competition prizes, public school museum field trips, and immersion summer camps. During Westeros History Week, the WTHP organized cultural festivals in every major city in the Seven Kingdoms. There was traditional food and traditional drink and traditional music and traditional dancing and of course, traditional costumes. The traditional costumes were the best part.</p><p>Her profile picture was of her hugging Lady on the banks of the Blackwater. That was from Westeros History Week last year too. She was wearing a grey samite gown with Northern-style embroidery from the Age of Honor and a crown of artificial blue winter roses. She made them both herself. She wore Stark white fox furs around her shoulders too. It was too hot for Lady and too hot to wear furs that day but they both dealt with it for the picture.</p><p>She went through the rest of her friend requests. Myranda Royce. Confirm. Mya B. Confirm. Ysilla Royce. Confirm. Cassandra Redfort. Confirm. Mychel Redfort. Confirm. Wallace Waynwood. Confirm.</p><p>Confirm. Confirm. Confirm. There were too many. It was time to switch to Instagram. Too many follow requests again. She took the same approach. Approve every name she knew. Randa Royce Mya Ysilla Cassandra Mychel Annette Jon Ben Rupert Lyle Wallace Willard Roland Harry Steffon Sandor Cynthea Ellyn. <em>Confirm</em>. A bunch of smallfolk from her Woodhull floor, from her logic class. <em>Delete</em>. Marillion_official, who’d had a concert on campus in the fall. <em>Confirm</em>.</p><p>Why wasn’t he there. Did he not have an Instagram? She kept scrolling. He was there, down by the bottom. Domeric Bolton (@domeric_bolton). Perfect. <em>Confirm. </em>A little green dot by his name again. Active now. <em>Message me first and I block you. </em>She pouted. Tomorrow was Cronesday and she wanted to know if he was doing anything.</p><p>There was a post from today. <em>Oh no. </em>It was him in a tux dancing with a tall and skinny girl with brown hair in a gold-sequined cocktail dress. They were both laughing. <em>No no no!!! </em> There was a caption. <em>Happy Birthday to @b3thanyrysw3ll. Don’t tell anyone but you’re my favorite cousin. Even though you suck at the waltz. How do you mess up the waltz? Love you Beth. </em>#MaidsdayMemory – WH L&amp;L Winter Formal. At Wyman Manderly Memorial Opera House. And was that Robb’s head in the back by the corner?</p><p>It wasn’t so bad. Ryswell. Yes, that was his grandfather’s name. The girl was definitely his cousin. She even looked a bit like his mom, if the lady in the old Tinder photo was his mom. That wasn’t so bad. But old blood married their cousins all the time, so still it might be <em>bad</em>. She switched tabs to Facebook again. Bethany Ryswell. Friends with Domeric Bolton, Robb Stark and 51 others. Her profile picture was a face shot. Not a selfie. A cross-eyed duckface in a straw cowgirl hat, mud splatters under her eyes. Braided brown pigtail as a mustache. The picture said, <em>I’m funny, I’m sporty, I like to get dirty. </em>Chest-arresting panic. <em>That’s not me, what if I’m not his type??? </em>The cover photo was a silhouette against a blazing red and gold sunset. A candid shot. She was on a horse clearing a few bales of hay by a foot or two. Arm out doing a trick with the cowgirl hat. There was white comic sans text off to the side – #<em>giddy up.</em></p><p><em>I love horses.</em> That’s what the picture said. <em>Oh no.</em> She had to know more. Today was her 19<sup>th</sup> birthday. She was a freshman at the Citadel of White Harbor. That’s how Robb knew her. Graduated from Barrowton-Rills Day &amp; Boarding. Okay, <em>that’s </em>how Robb knew her. In a Relationship with Cley Cerwyn. She sighed. She was so relieved.</p><p>They really were just cousins. But she had so many questions. Why did he go to White Harbor’s formal? Why not the Gulltown one? She switched tabs back to Instagram.</p><p>His profile picture was of him nuzzling a chestnut stallion with tender adoration. It looked like the same one from the polo pic from Tinder. <em>I love horses</em>. Besides today’s #MM there wasn’t a lot. Less than a hundred posts. A shaky portrait mode phone video of that concert he did in White Harbor. A spooky traditional hymn about the Father’s judgment and the Stranger’s kiss. The kind that made you squirm inside because you were actually a terrible person. The L&amp;L White Harbor winter formal theme for the Feast of the Stranger was Fright Night: All Men Must Die. Robb had told her about it. She kept scrolling. A lot were 30-second samples of him singing over an electric harp mixed with battle noises and storm sounds. All those videos had the same image: black background, white text: <em>DM me if you can make album artwork</em>.</p><p>There were a bunch of horse pictures. His horse by itself – himself. His horse’s name was Florian. Domeric riding Florian. Domeric on Florian with other people who looked like Ryswells who also rode horses. The Dreadfort. The same Eyrie Prep no helmet polo pic from Tinder. The hunting pic with his dad, also from Tinder. A pic from later that day with the bloody carcass of a ten-point buck. A red high harp, a pink electric harp. <em>New harp. Thanks Dad!</em> A full-length shot of the black plate red enamel suit of armor. It must have cost him 5 thousand dragons at least. A shot of the Gulltown Inner Harbor. Skiing in the Mountains of the Moon with the Redforts. Lounging on the beach with the Redforts and the Royces. A Ryswell family photo. Everyone had the same pattern knit wool sweater – a horse’s head on solid. Domeric was red on pink. Bethany was brown on yellow. Another girl was red on yellow. Roose was black on grey. Another guy who looked like Roose was grey on gold. A bunch of aunts and uncles and Rodrik Ryswell, <em>owner/breeder/trainer</em>. All wearing horse sweaters. They were a big horse loving family.</p><p>Another one was a collage of old photos. The woman in the hospital gown. Healthier. Smiling. Definitely his mom. <em>Today is not a special day. Not an anniversary, not a birthday. But today I was at home and I found these in an old album while looking for some stuff. I love you mom. I can’t believe it’s been more than twelve years without you. I still think about you every day. I know you’re up there smiling down at us. Dom &lt;3. </em>521 likes.</p><p>She started to tear up. <em>That’s so sad. He’s so sweet. Gods be good. I think I’m in love with him.</em></p><p>The next video she clicked on was over two minutes long. His face, and an older brown high harp. <em>That’s Florian and Jonquil, </em>she realized. She knew the opening chords. He smiled at the camera and started to sing – no, <em>croon</em>. His singing voice was even better than his speaking voice. Like an oldies rock star when rock stars were a new thing. <em>Gods be good. Gods be good. He loves Florian and Jonquil too. </em></p><p>His horse was named Florian. The dog she had before Lady was named Jonquil.</p><p>
  <em>We’ll be perfect together.</em>
</p><p>Droopy eyes and yawning. She was getting sleepy. It was time to put the laptop away. She took out her phone and watched the Florian and Jonquil video again. And again.</p><p>She wanted to kiss the screen, but kissing screens was stupid. So she pressed her face into her goose down pillow and said his name over and over and over again.</p><p>
  <em>Domeric Bolton. Domeric Bolton. Domeric Bolton.</em>
</p><p>She <em>knew </em>she was in love with him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. he's got a soul as sweet as blood [red jam]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>1. we meet our hero, domeric, drinking alone tfw no gf.<br/>2. our hero goes on a side quest: be the knight in shining armor help harry get saffron back.<br/>3. the side quest resolves in domeric and steffon frey averting a financial crisis where Braavos and Qarth end up buying Westeros on the cheap (again) by engaging in insider trading<br/>4. domeric pov meet cute .</p><p>To skip to the parts that relate to Sansa, please CTRL+F "Citadel of Gulltown Provost for Acolyte Affairs".</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a really long chapter. I got carried away. With this story I'm trying to stick to the formulaic romance novel structure and apparently you have to have the hero going off and doing other things before he meets the girl, so i used that portion to do some worldbuilding and demonstrate what a crapsack world modern westeros still is.</p><p>This is a siren a caution tape a warning do not cross. Nasty Degenerate Male Thoughts. Please please please heed the warning. Gross sometimes explicit sometimes disgusting sometimes misogynistic sometimes violent please I don't actually believe any of that. I am trying to put on a hat of a different perspective and make it sound realistic.</p><p>Domeric's mind is pretty sordid. His brain is in the gutter, he does not think in proper grammar, this is a week where he is falling apart. This is an art project, I am pushing my creative writing powers as far as they can go. I think I might have summoned a demon to write this. Miserere mei deus.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mychel and Mya were fucking again, and they were fucking raw.</p><p><em>Give me an hour, </em>Mychel’s text said. <em>Fuckface I’ll give you three. </em>Mychel and Mya would need three hours because Mya had a posterior kinetic chain like the warrior queen Visenya and more stamina than a team of mules. And it was also Sex Day #9.</p><p>Mya was crunchy. Eco friendly. Loved animals, hated plastic, everything she owned was cage free BPA free toxin free. She’d been into bio and biochem since the age of 15. <em>Eyrie Prep helped me discover my passions. Choose EP.</em> Mya was a stock photo in the EP admissions brochure. Looking good pursuing her passions. Like rock climbing – outdoorsmanship. Sorry, outdoorspersonship. Loved nature. All natural everything. <em>No synthetic fibers in my body, on my body. No tampons, no pads.</em> She bled onto ethically picked organic cotton nature rags. Latex – get outta town. No condoms. <em>No added hormones in my veggies, thanks. No added hormones in my grass-fed beef. No added hormones in me.</em> No added hormones. No birth control. So Mychel and Mya were fucking raw. All natural.</p><p>14 consecutive days out of every month, Mychel and Mya had their sex days. If a woman is regular and healthy, she spends roughly half her non pregnant childbearing years with a womb inhospitable to sperm. Unfit for human life. An acid death trap. Half the time you could fuck a woman with all the upside of pill sex or condom sex but without the down. Like eating with taste buds you’d murdered with scalding hot soup after all the pain had fizzled out because you had a nasty head cold and you couldn’t use your nose but what did it matter because you couldn’t taste or smell the food anyway and you just needed to eat something.</p><p>All it took was the patience and responsibility to not fuck raw for two fucking weeks while you did the tests and filled out that month’s sex chart.</p><p>Day 1 day 2 day 3 all they needed was an hour. Ten minutes foreplay ten minutes sex forty minutes cuddling. By day 9 they needed 3. Forty minutes foreplay thirty minutes sex twenty minutes nap ninety minutes cuddling. Or thereabouts. Gods be good the cuddling was the worst. The chuckles and the smiles. <em>I love you Mya. I love you Mych. </em>I love you MyMy. <em>Fuckface it’s my room too.</em></p><p>They’d been MyMy since what they were 16 at EP. Junior year. Mychel and Mya. MyMy. In fucking separable. Grow up don’t trade up. Grow up together. One heart one flesh one soul. They were getting married after graduation, and then they’d have up to 30 raw sex days a month, because the Redforts had money and they could afford a kid, and the Redforts were big donors to the Faith of the Seven and big donors to the Faith of the Seven didn’t abort their grandchildren. It wasn’t on brand. But Mychel and Mya didn’t want a kid yet, and they were fine with 14 raw sex days a month.</p><p><em>Gods be good I want to get married too I want to fuck a girl raw every day of the month I even want a kid who will spit up milk on my shirts and bite my nose with tiny baby teeth and say dadadadadada like Ronnel Stout’s newest-but-not-for-long baby.</em> Walder. Ah fuck.</p><p>He shuffled down the stairs of the Gull Tower. Backpack slung over his shoulder. Kitchen empty. The juniors were out bar crawling. Sophomores all lifting or in the game room. Making the most of the last few days before the semester started. He pulled out a beer. Bitters, simple syrup sugar. Unlocked the liquor cabinet. IRON GAUNTLET single barrel whiskey. 18-year-old. Old fashioned.</p><p>The beer went into the sink. The bottle to the recycling. Pour one out for Waymar Royce. <em>Waymar why did you have to do that semester at the Watch why’d you have to die in a research accident don’t they take care of their fucking interns in the Heart of Winter</em>. Buddy come back from the dead. <em>Why’d you leave me alone. I’ve got three weddings to go to this summer and I don’t want to be the only one going stag to all of them. </em></p><p>Mychel and Mya and Cassie and Robar were having a double wedding at the Redfort. Save money stay rich, Horton said. They were first. Just enough weeks after the grad parties to let everyone start missing each other. They were in the same marriage prep program through the Faith of the Seven. Eyes Like Clear Blue Pools: Free Will, Sound Mind, Pure Heart. Trying to get young horny engaged couples to not screw until the big day. To not masturbate. To not watch porn. To follow the Faith of the Seven in all matters of morals, including matters of the flesh. There were also chapters on parenting, communication, and budgeting.</p><p>The Faith of the Seven had a tough job. It wasn’t a thousand years ago when you could marry a girl when you were 15 and she was 13 and no one fucking cared if her education wasn’t finished yet because girls didn’t get educated because their whole job was to just fuck you raw and have your babies. Morals from the Age of Honor needed laws from the Age of Honor, yeesh. <em>Why couldn’t I have been Domeric Bolton a thousand years ago. Maybe I would have had a wife and kids by now and be spending every night fucking my sweet lady love raw on a wolf pelt by a roaring hearth in the Dreadfort. </em></p><p>Or maybe he  would be dead of dysentery. But they called it ‘sickness of the bowels’ back then.</p><p>Cassie and Robar were the first to get engaged. Big show after commencement last year. The grad party. Balloon arch, champagne sprays, red roses everywhere. <em>I AM YOUR KNIGHT AND YOU ARE MY LADY, PLEASE BE MY LADY WIFE CASSANDRA REDFORT. </em> Jon Redfort flew the plane with the banner in the sky. Robar had Domeric start the serenades. As if anyone thought she wouldn’t say yes. As if they hadn’t been steady since he came back from high school study abroad in Yi fucking Ti his senior spring and realized <em>whoa, Cass is hot and she thinks I’m the best thing since sliced bread.</em></p><p>They did the long-distance thing for a while. Two years overlap at CoG. Then long distance again. Robar was working in the fucking Reach. One perk of your new career is corporate travel. Now Cass was trying to stuff all the credits she could into junior year so she could graduate after senior fall and minimize the amount of time she had to go around with “Miss Cassandra Redfort” on all of her school supplies. She’d already ordered the full stationery kit embossed in bronze with “Mrs. Robar Royce” from Parchments Press.</p><p><em>Robar fuck you Robar I want your life you can keep Cass I just want your life. </em>The high school sweetheart the picture-perfect proposal to tell the grandkids about the yes baby we’re forever you’re my one and only till we’re both grey in the grave.</p><p>The next ones to get engaged were Mychel and Mya. No surprises there. <em>Babe let’s get married. Yeah. Duh. When? Not sure. A time my dad can make it. I don’t care who’s there as long as he is. </em>Warden of the South Robert Baratheon was conveniently available on Robar and Cassie’s date, and those two were fine with sharing. Open handed beneficence like the Father above. What a joke. Horton’s money, Horton’s choice.</p><p>So MyMy and Cassie and Robar were doing the program. Eyes Like Clear Blue Pools for Women. Sex charts and fertility tests. Sync it to your phone. Get heart-shaped push notifications on HIGH FERTILITY days. Space your children without frustrating natural law and the Seven’s design. Cass wanted seven children. Seven was a holy number. Mya was on board with it because it meant mastering her body the all-natural way. Mychel was on board with it because it meant they could ditch the expensive eco friendly all-natural condoms and start fucking raw.</p><p><em>Guys you gotta help me. You gotta download the app.</em> What app Robar. He shared the shortcut in the group chat. <em>Eyes Like</em> <em>Clear Blue Pools for Men. The no porn no masturbation chastity accountability app. The Faith sponsored one. </em>What the fuck you can’t be serious Robar. <em>I’m serious you’re all doing it with me. </em>Is that an order as the Lord Protector.<em> Yes. </em>Well then, yes, my lord. Can you tell us why though.<em> Because Cass wants seven kids and how am I going to squirt out seven kids if I’m a fucking porn addict. I need to have eyes like clear blue pools so the wife goggles work in fifteen years and I have to go for the last one.</em></p><p>Of course Robar was a porn addict. Cass was a Good Girl, and Good Girls didn’t put out, and so Robar was stuck with <em>Petite Blonde Sweetie is SOOOOOO in Love with You</em> and <em>Corrupt This Secretly Sexy Sept Girl’s Soul. </em></p><p>It was an order from the Lord Protector and that meant that the whole Gull Tower downloaded the app. They made it into a contest. <em>Does it count if a girl makes you cum. No that doesn’t count. Actually. You don’t lose points but you go back to zero.</em></p><p>This was one high score that made Domeric feel like a total fucking loser. This winning streak was hell.</p><p>At least it would be over once the Redfort wedding was over with. Then it would be Robert and Sara’s wedding, and that was a Ryswell family function. <em>Dom why didn’t you bring anyone. Honey you’re so handsome, I don’t think you’re looking hard enough. Dom who do you think will be next, you or Beth? Bro you have to lower your standards, it’s just a date for a wedding. She doesn’t need to be your girlfriend to bring her to a wedding.</em></p><p>
  <em>Shut up shut up shut up everyone please. Please just let me enjoy the free booze. Don’t you care about me. Aren’t you supposed to want me to be happy. You’re not making me happy now. Please don’t bring this up.</em>
</p><p>His old fashioned was done. No worries. Just one more or else he’d go over his carb limit for the day and the clean bulk would become a dirty one.</p><p>The whiskey took the edge off but it still hurt. <em>Robbie why am I the loser now didn’t you used to be jealous of me because I didn’t need to share things I got everything to myself and you always said Pop-pop was prouder of me than you but look at you your girl thinks you’re the greatest and I don’t have a girl at all. You win.</em></p><p>At least Roland and Walda’s wedding wouldn’t be so bad. The ninth moon, when the summer died. Hot Walda didn’t love Roland. Fat Walda was Domeric’s stepmom. Roland and Hot Walda met each other doing study abroad in Lys last year. They came back engaged. Hot Walda went to C-oh-Trident and was Steff and Bry’s sister. <em>I thought you were never getting married Roland.</em> You know I have to. We all have to get married. It’s what we do.<em> Why Walda though. </em>Bro don’t you know Stevron Frey is grooming Walton to lead FCTC because Ryman is a retard. Ryman and Black Walder and Edmyn and Petyr are getting written out of the will. Steff told me. <em>What does that have to do with you Roland. </em>Nothing she loves Black Walder but Black Walder will be broke and I’ll have Waynwood Tire Shocks &amp; Struts. <em>Won’t she cheat on you with him though. </em>Yeah but she knows I’ll cheat too and we’re both ok with that. It’ll work between us. We have an understanding.<em> What about the kids. You don’t want to be a cuck. </em>Walda knows how to use the fucking pill. And we have paternity tests and doctors with NDAs.</p><p>Roland would still get to fuck Walda raw though. <em>Everyone is fucking raw but me.</em></p><p>Dad got to fuck raw. With a 19-year-old girl who’d canceled her college plans to be his baby. <em>Holy shit dad how is it that you get to raw tight hot wet cunt pussy but I don’t.</em> Because Walda was fucking fat, and Dad didn’t care.</p><p>Walda had an Instagram. Big Blonde and Beautiful. That was her tagline. Walda had sponsors and endorsements and a hundred thousand fat girls buying things she reviewed. Like share comment please teeheehee! Walda’s sister Ami did porn. Love Free – Ami Frey. A subsidiary of FCTC. Frey-Crossing Trading Company. A conglomerate. <em>Watch This Snooty Old Blood Slut Get Gangbanged and Love It </em>was Ami’s most popular video<em>.</em> Walda didn’t do porn but sometimes she would come say hi on Ami’s vlogs. Paid subscriber content. Merrett Frey. Grandpa. How did you let that happen.</p><p>Did Dad find Walda because of her popular Instagram or did he find her because he was a paid subscriber of Ami Frey’s content. He didn’t want to know. Anyway it didn’t matter. Dad had Walda and he called her baby and he liked to pull up her skirt and slap her giant jiggly whale ass and make giant jiggly whale waves in it while Walda giggled like a little girl. While his son was at home.</p><p>Domeric, she makes me feel young again. <em>Thanks Dad </em><em>I want to stab my eyes out.</em></p><p>Dad and Walda had a feature in <em>Debonair.</em> Westeros’ leading publication on old school men’s style and fine living, preserving the ethos of chivalry and class and sharing the best of fashion, travel, and high culture. Official Sponsor of the Westeros Trust for Historical Preservation. This magazine brought to you by Lords of Westeros. The Ladies’ equivalent was <em>Debutante.</em></p><p>The <em>Debonair </em>feature was a fucking disaster. Three two-page spreads, a full-page glamour shot each of Walda and Dad. <em>Voluptuous Living: How to Keep your Vigor at 50. </em>A panorama of the wedding at the Dreadfort. Kickin’ it poolside at the Twins. Their bedroom. What the fuck. Little photo insets of Dad’s naturopathic therapy leeches and individually calibrated skincare products and bondage gear. Walda’s plus size lingerie line. BBBeautiful by Walda Bolton. Seven thousand words about their marriage. Their story. How they make it work. How to be young forever. It made Domeric want to fucking die.</p><p>They mentioned him about six thousand words in. <em>Roose Bolton’s first marriage ended in tragedy when his first wife, Bethany Ryswell Bolton, was diagnosed with an aggressive form of ovarian cancer and passed within the year. Their union produced one son, Domeric Bolton, a junior at the Citadel of Gulltown. Read more about Domeric Bolton in our magazine archives.</em></p><p>A hundred thousand of Walda’s fat girl Instagram followers read more about Domeric Bolton in the <em>Debonair</em> archives. At 19 they’d profiled him. <em>Young Buck of the Month. </em>He talked about polo, hockey, the album he was writing in his free time. How he wanted to get into the electric harp. His ideas about investing. Answered all the stock questions. What’s your favorite food? <em>Lamb chops with rosemary and garlic. </em>What’s your favorite color? <em>Can’t choose between hot pink and baby pink. I just love pink. </em>Favorite Movie? <em>Florian and Jonquil (951 AC). The black and white one, not the cartoon. The cartoon is my second favorite though. </em>Are you still single? <em>Yeah. </em>Do you want to be single? <em>No.</em></p><p>He didn’t know if all one hundred thousand of Walda’s fat girl Instagram followers took that as an invitation to start hitting on him, but all the ones who went to CoG did. <em>I’m sorry I don’t want to be mean I don’t feel that way about you. No thanks. I’m sure you’re really nice but that article was written two years ago and I’m not ready for a relationship anymore. Had a bad breakup taking a break from girls. I’m really sorry. </em></p><p>Lies lies lies. <em>I want a girl so bad I just don’t want a fat one I want a hot girl with a waist I can wrap my hands around I want to ride pillion on my horse with her I want to wear my heavy as fuck black armor and carry her bridal style up the Tower stairs in a heavy as fuck dress a mile long. My power clean max is only 250 ok I’m not the strongest guy out there I can’t do that with you also you’re fat please go away. No you’re not ugly ugly I think you could be pretty cute if you lost a hundred pounds. I’m sorry I think you’re a nice funny smart person but I’m not attracted to you please go away. </em></p><p>Once the fat girls start going for you the hot girls don’t look at you anymore. <em>This is why I don’t have a girlfriend.</em></p><p>That was junior year. Junior year was the year fat girls became part of the Bolton brand. The year everyone started lumping him in with Dad instead of Ramsay. Started thinking he wanted his own baby chubby queen. <em>I miss the old Bolton brand where being a Bolton was about pink knives pink guns hunting horseback in the woods. </em>But that brand died when he left for EP. Then the Bolton brand became about Ramsay. About serial killers. <em>Holy shit I never thought I’d miss the serial killer stuff and being chased by girls into serial killers. </em>At least some of the girls into serial killers were hot. All of them were fucking crazy.</p><p>You’re pretty hot, you have serial killer eyes. A serial killer face. It’s in your genes I can just see it. How many people have you killed? Are you just saying that because it’s illegal, please you can tell me I’m not a cop I won’t tell anyone I promise. Choke me daddy. Punch my face. Can you cut me while you’re inside me please. I need to be bruised and bloody to cum. It’s ok I don’t mind if I scar I like it I can’t cum without the pain.</p><p><em>Hair pulling spanking bondage fine fine fine, those are all kind of hot. No I won’t choke you no I won’t cut you no I won’t give you a black eye those are all INSANE. Who hurt you who did that to you I want to wrap you in a blanket and spoon chicken noodle soup into your mouth. Can I fix you can I be your hero your knight in shining armor. </em>Once he tried the knight in shining armor stuff it was always over. These girls were into serial killers.</p><p>
  <em>Holy shit I just want a normal girl a really nice girl who’s soft and smells nice and wants me to take care of her protect her and provide for her pamper her be my princess. Open the door take her coat stroke her hair boop her nose. Hold her hand call her cutie I’m not going to give my own fucking girlfriend a black eye. No. No no no.</em>
</p><p>It all stared with that fucking blog. And its Instagram account. <em>Studs in the Slammer. </em>After EP commencement. Holy shit Dad did you see this you worked hard to keep everything Ramsay did quiet some obsessed internet weirdo dug up his story dug up his history all his mugshots his court pictures the court videos the public evidence and now the Bolton brand was serial killers. Ramsay was viral. A Stud in the Slammer.</p><p>Dispossessed scion of an ancient line. So much rage in his heart he turned to kidnapping girls from the side of the highway bus stops convenience stores all hitchhiking. Take them halfway get on a country road out to the backwoods rape them kill them flay off their breasts and pussy mound tie them to a tree. It was his calling card. Age 17 years 329 days tried as an adult a two-year reign of terror finally ended. Dad had set up a charity fund for the 28 victims’ families.</p><p>
  <em>Ramsay what a body count. 28 girls in less than 2 years? More than one a month. How did you do that. Get them to hop in your truck. Chat them up touch their hand flirt a little knock them cold. Even if it was rape. I can’t do that. </em>
</p><p>Ramsay still got mail. Fan mail. A lot of mail. From a lot of women. As his crimes were sexual in nature all provocative material was sent to the Dreadfort, or to the town house when Dad was in town. <em>Dad what’s this package, I’m expecting something. </em>It’s Ramsay’s. From the super max.<em> What is it? </em>Just open it.</p><p>Ramsay my tumblr about you reached 100,000 hits today. We have our three hundredth post on RamsayFacts. We did a celebration as a community. One hundred seventy-nine members strong! Enclosed you will find an album of all of our boobies with our tumblr urls sharpied in red. Ramsay I miss you your eyes are so beautiful your hands are so powerful your body so strong at night I think about you touching me fucking giving me a baby staring into my eyes. I hope you’re okay in prison. It must be so lonely. I dreamed about you, I visited you in your cell. Ramsay I got another tattoo. It’s you. Your eyes on the small of my back. Here I’ll show you the new collection. Do you remember the last one? It’s your name right under my breasts. And before that my knuckles. F-L-A-Y-L-O-V-E. Ramsay last night I ran my vibrator over my panties over my clit over my slit I thought about you I love you here are my panties with my pussy juice all dried up. Ramsay when I sent this they still smelled like me, can you still smell me? Ramsay I’ll always wait for you I love you please wait for me.</p><p>
  <em>Dad why’d you tell me to open it. You troll.</em>
</p><p>The worst part of the serial killer stuff was Myra. Brown hair bright brown eyes kinda skinny like Mom. Myra. Short for Myranda. <em>Holy shit if I knew her name was really Myranda I wouldn’t have touched her with a ten foot pole.</em> He met Myra in Gulltown. On Tinder. A townie not a gownie. <em>I thought I loved her.</em> Didn’t matter that she was smallfolk he wanted to marry her. Six fucking months sophomore year. Dom the pill kicked in, my doctor says we can do raw now. It’s safe I promise I’m clean.<em> Holy shit what a liar what a freak are there people really like that in this world.</em></p><p>They were rawing in the tower. The best thing ever. The best feeling ever. Raw. <em>So good I want this forever I want this every day Myra marry me please.</em> Yes Dom yes I love you we’re forever. He did something different. She liked it. Her explosion must have lasted a solid minute. It was too much. She couldn’t talk. He couldn’t last any longer. <em>Babe Myra do you feel that I’m gonna cum in you tell me how it feels tell me that you like it tell me you love me again.</em></p><p>Yes yes Ramsay yes I want you give me your baby I can’t wait to have our son Ramsay Ramsay Ramsay.</p><p>Wow what a way to murder an orgasm.</p><p>
  <em>Get out. Don’t come back. I never want to see you again.</em>
</p><p>She came back. She tried to climb the Gull Tower. Break in through his window. <em>Dom you didn’t listen we told you she has crazy eyes. Don’t stick your dick in crazy remember next time we have your back but please we hope you learned. </em></p><p>She was worse than a blog girl. The cops said she was a stalker. Ramsay’s real-life girlfriend. Thank you son, we were looking for this one. Was she his ex or were they still together didn’t matter he was locked up for good. He hadn’t mentioned her in the tapes but there were clues. She covered for him. Spooked his hunting ground. Chose his girls. <em>Crazy eyes.</em></p><p>She wanted his cum. His baby. His serial killer genes. Ramsay Bolton was locked up for good but Domeric Bolton was single, 20, Citadel of Gulltown. Looking for my lady love to ride into the sunset with. We’ll be Florian and Jonquil. She researched him. Dressed the way the girls he liked dressed. Whole new wardrobe. Adopted prep school girl mannerisms. Speech patterns gestures poses. <em>Holy shit it worked how are there are people like that in this world.</em></p><p>His first and only long-term girlfriend, Ramsay’s sloppy seconds. He was a Ramsay replacement. A stud for <em>serial killer genes</em>. The next best thing. <em>I was nothing to her but a sperm bank with a cock and balls.</em></p><p>
  <em>Holy shit why can’t I just get a girlfriend who loves me for me who wants to just have a nice family we love each other we have a baby a couple kids a couple horses maybe a dog or two we still make out when I have liver spots she has osteoporosis and we’re fucking old like Pop-pop and Mee-maw. Holy shit why am I such a loser what is wrong with me I look good on paper why can’t a hot girl just love me like hot girls love my friends. Holy shit I just need to fucking cum why I am I still doing Robar’s stupid app he’s not even the Lord Protector anymore guys can we stop this please. Roland, my lord. I beg your leave to delete the fucking app. On my honor my lord I will await your leave. Holy shit even fucking Wallace lays more pipe than I do because he has that cross-country skinny guy stuttery adorkable thing going for him and he hits it big with girls from Leng. Tight hot wet Essosi jungle pussy. My t-t-t-tiger k-k-kitten. Holy shit you’re in a bad place just stop drinking. Just stop drinking.</em>
</p><p>Pour it out for Waymar Royce.</p><p>***</p><p>He was walking upstairs. <em>Waymar’s room will be empty, I can just chill up there. </em>No booze up there, a nice view of the ocean. The moonlight on the sea.</p><p>“Let go of me, please let go of me – ”</p><p>“Babe babe babe please. Please listen. Don’t go, please listen. You can’t – ”</p><p>“I’m sorry, I love you, I have to. My dad, it has to be like he says it has to be.”</p><p>“No it doesn’t. No it doesn’t. Saff I’ll do anything please don’t tell him, <em>we can fix it</em> – ”</p><p>“You don’t understand. It’s already too late, I already told him. Just listen. Spring break they’ll send me away. They’ll say it’s rehab and then they’ll turn around and say it’s not. They want this stuff in the news, my dad, he’s so mad at me, he doesn’t care he’s hurting me too, he wants me punished for failing. Listen Harry I have to go. Just protect yourself. He wants you ruined. The whole thing ruined. All this. Please that’s why I’m here just protect yourself okay?”</p><p>“Saffron no please we can figure it out –”</p><p>“What’s going on here.” Saffron was dressed all in black. Baggy black hoodie black leggings black ankle boots. Messy bun no makeup. Not her usual style. She liked to mimic old blood girls. Straight blond hair chunky blue headband chunky pearl necklace Hunter boots. That’ what the Spicers did. Mimic the old blood. Spend money. New money. Social climbers.</p><p>Harry was clutching her wrist in his hand. Trapping her against the wall in the spiral stairs. Jeans t-shirt red eyes desperate.</p><p>“Saffron. Are you all right. Harry, let go of her.” Harry’s grip clenched and then unclenched, loosening slowly, like a deflating blood pressure cuff. When he let go his arm swung down and hung limply at his side. He backed away until Saffron had room to walk. “Saffron. Are you all right.”</p><p>Saffron pulled her hoodie up. He couldn’t see her face. “Yes. I’m all right. We’re all fine. I gotta go though. Thanks Domeric. Good night.” She didn’t say bye to Harry. She didn’t look back.</p><p>He stood there with Harry until the ground floor staircase door slammed. Saffron was gone. Harry sank down onto the steps, put his head in his hands, and started to cry.</p><p>“Come on Harry we’re in the stairs.” No answer just sobbing. He lowered himself down beside Harry, wow these stairs are nasty when was the last time these were cleaned. Arm around his shoulder heads together friends brothers. “Harry come on. We’ll go to Waymar’s room. We’ll talk about it, what happened, we can make it just be fine.”</p><p>“No it won’t.”</p><p>“Can’t help you make it fine if you don’t tell me about it. Get up Harry. I’m here.”</p><p>Giant posters of the Heart of Winter. <em>Wildling</em> brand magazine ads. <em>Join the Watch Explore the World.</em> Dust and creaky furniture. Waymar’s room. He closed the door.</p><p>“Saffron broke up with you.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“She loves you. She doesn’t want to. Her dad made her do it.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Can you tell me more.”</p><p>Harry sat down on the bare bed frame creaky slats no mattress. Queen. “You know the program. The app.”</p><p>“The one that Mych and Mya are doing or the one that the rest of us are doing.”</p><p>“Mych and Mya.” He coughed. “I fucked it up.”</p><p>“Saff’s pregnant.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“She’s getting rid of it?”</p><p>“No!” He looked startled. “No, the Spicers aren’t like that. They, uhh, you know. They try to do what we do. That’s – that’s why. Rehab.”</p><p>“She’s gonna have the baby.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“And you won’t get to see it.”</p><p>“Yeah. Closed adoption.” Harry’s eyes though. Bloodshot wide constricted pupils. Red white and blue. “Fuck it Dom I want to keep it. My son. My daughter. Saff. I don’t deserve it, I’m a piece of shit, Uncle Jon was right, I suck, I suck, I suck, I’m not ready for this, I won’t be able to support them, I’m irresponsible, I have no skills – ”</p><p>“Harry. Shut up. Stop talking that way. You’re great.” He sat down next to Harry. Arm around his shoulder heads together friends brothers. “I don’t get it though. You have money, the Arryn trust money, you have a spot at Waynwood Tire, there’s time for you to shape things up – ”</p><p>“No. No. You don’t know – Uncle Jon. You know the big fight we had. We never – we never made up. The will, when it was opened – gods be good. Gods be good. He cut me out. The stuff from him. All I have is the stuff my mom left me. My dad. Grandma. Gods be good. The will said – I’m a fucking disappointment, a dilettante, I’ll never live up to what it means to be an Arryn, I don’t deserve any help, <em>I leave your fate to your Aunt Anya to decide, </em>and, and. Holy shit. Aunt Anya and Uncle Morton. They said to me afterwards. Sorry Harry we can’t let you work at Waynwood Tire your grades are just too terrible and we need the best people right now. At Waynwood Tire. You need to stand on your own for a bit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Dom. Why can’t I just get good grades like you. Dom. How does being smart without studying work. I just. I really don’t know – ”</p><p>“Harry. It’s okay. I. I can get you a job. Bolton Corp. You can work for my dad. There are always cushy jobs there. You can just make powerpoints while they teach you public speaking. I think. Uhh. You could be a salesman, you’ve got the look, you can talk, there’s a formula you follow. Yeah – I’ll call my dad, he’ll get you on the payroll – ”</p><p>“Yeah that’s the providing part but. But. Saffron’s dad. Fucking Clovis. Gods be good. He’s – you know. He’s like. Super jealous of his cousins in Lannisport. You know. The ones who saved the Westerlings after their brand went under, got Sybelle to marry into old blood twenty-five years ago. They’re trying to be old blood now. The Spicers. The whole family. I can’t just show up to him and say I’ll take care of her, I’ll take care of the baby, I can’t marry her, Aunt Anya won’t let me. That sounds so bad. Holy shit. I need. I need to marry Saffron – ”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Aunt Anya though – you know how she is – ”</p><p>“Yeah.” He tightened his arm around Harry’s shoulder. This was it. Maybe he couldn’t have it. The good life with the girl and the kid. But he could help Harry have that life. “Harry. We’ll figure it out. We’ll talk to Roland. We’ll talk to Steff. We’ll change her mind. Make it work.”</p><p>“Dom – how can you say that. You know her – ”</p><p>“I do. But. She cares about honor. Tradition. Ceremony. Chivalry and class. And – and that means you marry the girl. That means, you get Saffron back.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Harry’s breathing had slowed down a little. “Dom. I just. I need her back. Saff. I think, you know, she tries <em>so hard</em>. The Spicers, I know they’re strivers, but strivers – they try hard. They try really fucking hard. Saff makes me give a shit about stuff. About life. She got me to start trying. You know Dom I think she makes me better – ”</p><p>“We’ve all seen it, Harry. She makes you better.”</p><p>“I think – you know – Uncle Jon might have liked her – ”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Dom. I just. I need Saffron back.”</p><p>“You’ll get her back, Harry. I promise you. We’ll make it happen.” He stood up from Waymar’s creaky dusty bed, put a fist over his heart, and gave Harry his best everything’s-gonna-be-all-right smile. “On my honor as a knight. You’ll get her back. We’ll make it happen.”</p><p>“Dom?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“I love you man.”</p><p>***</p><p>Citadel of Gulltown Provost for Acolyte Affairs Clovis Spicer’s house was at the edge of campus. Closer to the harbor. A deep skinny townhouse hundreds of years old. Three stories tall. The public portion with the Office of the Provost’s office conference room waiting room reception desk was on the ground floor. The Spicers lived upstairs.</p><p>“It’s won’t be necessary for you to join us, sers,” Clovis had said. Shiny eyes pink cheeks gin breath gods be good is this man drunk at five in the morning it’s the first day of the semester why are you drunk ser. Five in the morning was all Clovis cold squeeze in. He was a busy man. “Please. Sit out here. Read a book. My assistant can fetch you refreshments.”</p><p>It was always gonna be like that. It was always gonna be just Harry and Clovis. This was a man to man conversation. They spent the weekend prepping him. Domeric Steffon Roland Mychel. Telling him what to say. Conference calls with Anya and Morton Waynwood. Offer package in hand from Dad. Welcome to Team Pink! 401k match health vision dental life unlimited vacation days. Role playing. Coaching. Different angles. What to wear how to sit make sure your frame is fucking strong. They even got Horton and Robar on the line a few times because if there was anyone who exuded SCARY before the <em>ser I want to marry your daughter</em> conversation it was Horton Redfort and if there was anyone who was brave enough to power through that SCARY it was Robar Royce. They kept it quiet from the rest of the guys.</p><p>They took the <em>Honor</em> tack with Anya Waynwood. It worked. Holy shit it worked. Harry see it’s going great everything’s gonna be fine. Harry you’ll do great we’re just outside we’re out here we love you. Look Harry my dad drove all the way to Ironoaks to pick up your mom’s ring see bud everything’s gonna be fine. You can do it. Soar High, Young Falcon! As High as Honor.</p><p>Mychel had to lead reserves. He couldn’t come. Steff and Roland were talking wedding talk. Steff was the best man and Wallace and Bry and Sandor were groomsmen. Walda had sent the approved palette via email last night and they were talking clothes. <em>I don’t want to hear this.</em></p><p>He was on Tinder. Right right right right left right right super like super like super like right right right right left super like right. You had to cast a wide net.</p><p>Movement by the door. <em>Thunk. </em>Wait what? What?</p><p>“Did you hear that.”</p><p>Roland and Steff looked up. “Hear what?” Roland said. The Office of the Provost’s door crashed open and Harry stumbled out. Red face hand over mouth fucking mad as hell a fuckin turmeric ginger gin &amp; tonic stain on his shirt front. Clovis was laughing.</p><p>“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” Harry said.</p><p>“Wait Harry tell us what happened – ”</p><p>“After we get the fuck outta here.”</p><p>Back in the Tower. The Lounge. “Harry – tell us what happened.”</p><p>“Gods be good. It’s not just about Saff. About me. The kid. It’s bigger than that. I mean what the fuck. Clovis. He’s crazy. Cartoon villain crazy. It’s his life’s dream. To screw us over. Lords &amp; Ladies. Because he and Rolf didn’t get in at fuckin C-oh-Lannisport even after the whole Westerling thing. Gods be good he kept on going on about us exclusive pretentious old blood twats. Roland I’m sorry but your aunt Lorella didn’t let in Saffron do you remember that. Gods be good I don’t fucking care about that I care about Saffron and my kid. He like. He has. A grudge against the Waynwoods now. Gods be good he hates me cause I’m half Waynwood. <em>I know about the company’s problems and Petyr Baelish has made ten times more donations to C-oh-Gulltown than the Waynwoods have in the past five years and your family will be ruined this year.</em> Gods be good. He was talking about the Baelish. Um. Funds. I don’t know, like the Gulltown Stock Exchange and stuff. Um. Baelish, at C-oh-Trident, he didn’t get into Lords there either even though, um, Lysa Tully put in a word for him? It’s just. All of it, I don’t care, I just want Saffron back. Guys what am I supposed to do with all this…”</p><p>“Harry can you say that part about the company again.” That was Roland. Freaked out. Harry said the part about the company again.</p><p>“Harry. Please repeat the part about the Gulltown Stock Exchange.” Harry repeated the part about the Gulltown Stock Exchange. <em>Gods be good.</em> Deep breaths count to ten that’s <em>material nonpublic information</em>. Work with it. “Harry. Don’t worry. Go, uh. Can you go hang out with Wallace. What you said about stock exchange is very important.”</p><p>“Uh. Yeah.”</p><p>“Harry. You’ll get Saffron back.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“Roland.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“You have to call your dad like right now.”</p><p>“Already ringing.”</p><p>“Steff.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“How many people can you call before the market opens. We’re gonna make Petyr fuckin Baelish squirm.”</p><p>He took out his phone. Dial Damon Dance for Me. His broker. On vacation to Tyrosh no no no no. Dial Walton at the family office. “Walton can you get me Damon’s backup at the desk.”</p><p>“Of course, ser.” Trades called in ok ok ok send me the confirmations as soon as they get in. Dial Walton at the family office. “Walton can you get me Dad.”</p><p>“Of course, ser.” <em>Look Dad you need to do this trust me we can’t let the fuckin Braavosi and Qartheen cartels buy Westeros again and sell it to the Free Citites it took the Seven Kingdoms two centuries to get back on its feet after the fall of the Targaryens and do you know how much the people on this continent suffered during those two centuries Dad do I have to send you another article. Oh. Hi Walda. Dad just listen to me we are the Lords of Westeros do you know what they are trying to do Dad we can’t let this happen. If they take out Waynwood Tire that’s the first step all those pensions Dad you have to listen. No I don’t need a gift this year. Just make sure you have trade confirmations and that you hit every number in the rolodex. Thanks I promise I know what I’m doing. Yeah I love you too.</em></p><p>Dial Uncle Roger. Dial Ronnel Stout. Dial. No paper trail.</p><p>It was Farsday and he didn’t have class. It was senior spring and he structured his schedule to give him long weekends. Farsdays off. Steff didn’t have class either. The Mother is merciful. They hooked up the Baelish terminal to the HD widescreen in the game room and watched the market dance. Volatility is possibilities. <em>Holy shit Steff can you ask a sophomore to get us popcorn.</em></p><p>Baelish. Terminals TV news research. New money from Braavos, a meteoric rise. Unprecedented. The richest man on the planet and flaunting it. Chip on his shoulder biggest CoG donor gonna wipe the Waynwoods and Tullys off the map. Nope nope nope we’re watching the nope on your terminal we’d like to see you try. Try to take out one of us you mess with all of us we are the old blood of Westeros.</p><p>They got the terminal in the fall. Baelish was married to Lysa Tully in a scandalous wedding not six months after Jon Arryn died. Lysa Tully was Catelyn Tully’s sister and Catelyn Tully was the mom of one of the incoming freshmen Ladies. Sansa Stark.</p><p>He tried to talk to her once. <em>Hey your aunt is Lysa Tully right? Can I ask you a favor. </em>Her eyes widened and then she looked down and flinched away ran away hid behind Mya and Mychel in the Jeyne Arryn House lounge. <em>Holy shit she is the hottest girl I’ve ever seen is she creeped out by me what did I do I wasn’t trying to hit on her I just wanted her to get us a Baelish terminal for the Tower and B-units for the guys.</em></p><p><em>What is her problem</em>, he commented, when she scurried off to her freshman dorm. It was just him Mychel and Mya in the lounge. <em>Does she really think that the Starks are that much better than everybody. How can you be that stuck up. Bolton blood is just as old. Or is it the Tullys. Gods be good was my Aunt Barbrey right about them what was old man Rickard thinking.</em></p><p>Whoa he had never seen Mya get so mad.</p><p>Dom you shut your fucking mouth you don’t know that girl you don’t know what she’s been through Gendry told me what happened at KLA prom my half-brother Joffrey is her fucking ex-boyfriend they were planning to have sex for the first time on prom night for two years but he turned into a fucking jerk senior spring as if he wasn’t always just a jerk and just hiding it and she didn’t want to anymore and when she told him she didn’t want to anymore he ripped off her prom dress and gave her a black eye in front of everyone. The football coach chaperoning had to give her his tux jacket. He was not punished because of who Dad is and his mom Cersei Lannister is the fucking KLA headmistress. All of KLA heard about it do you not know anyone who went to KLA. She doesn’t have that many KLA friends anymore it was really traumatizing you have to be nice to that girl. So Gendry is her sister Arya’s boyfriend and he was the only one who knew anyone at Gulltown and her brother Robb when they moved her in last month he asked me to meet him personally do you know what he said to me. The fucking Lord Protector at White Harbor. Robb Stark. The son of the Warden of the North. Mya Baratheon Stone, I, Robb of House Stark, would ask of you a boon. Please watch out for my sister I can’t be here for her she doesn’t have any friends here can you let her to Ladies in the fall instead of the spring. Please let her be included again. She’s afraid of guys and sex now all she wanted when she was little was to just fall in love and be a mom like our mom did and she thinks her life is ruined and that all guys but me Dad Jon Theon Gendry are monsters. Don’t let my sister feel like her life is ruined okay. Please I want my little sister back can you turn her back into a happy girl. Dom you fucking jerk you know nothing about Sansa Stark don’t talk about what you don’t know about.</p><p>Mya babe I think that was a bit too much information, Mychel said.</p><p>Yeah. But. Dom you just. You all have to be nice to her. Or just don’t talk to her. Don’t hit on her don’t be gross to her just avoid her if you have to she is a nice girl she was really hurt don’t you fucking dare let anyone touch her.</p><p>
  <em>Gods be good Mya it was just a joke I’m a Bolton she’s a Stark. It was just a joke we’re supposed to hate each other it’s tradition. I don’t actually think that about her I don’t know her I didn’t know that I didn’t mean it I want to cut my tongue out thanks. She seems like a really nice girl but I’ll never talk to her I’ll talk to Roland about it none of us will talk to her except for maybe Wallace because girls feel safe around Wallace. We’ll make sure no one else tries to talk to her either we’re the Lords we can do that. All I wanted was for her to ask her aunt Lysa for a Baelish terminal for the Tower and a few B-units for the guys.</em>
</p><p>Oh. Well if you send me an email of what you need I can ask her for you, she’ll do it if I ask.</p><p>Yeah I’ll send it tonight. Thanks.</p><p>They got their Baelish terminal and eight B-units the next week.</p><p>
  <em>Sansa Stark I’ll have to write you a thank you note all of Westeros will have to write you a thank you note if this shit works and if it doesn’t work maybe I’ll be a Stud in the Slammer like Ramsay. Do hot girls send their pussy juice panties and pictures of their tits to white collar criminals like they do to serial killers.</em>
</p><p>Market close, what a ride. Tomorrow we’ll get the reactions. Fuck he was wired. He opened Tinder again.</p><p>
  <em>Holy shit is that Sansa Stark. Why is Sansa Stark in my matches. I thought she was a nice girl I thought she wasn’t into hookups didn’t want a boyfriend did Randa sink her claws in her Gods be good what is happening I’m not supposed to talk to her. Gods be good did I super like her this morning at the fucking Spicer house while I was still sleepy I didn’t notice I just thought she was hot. </em>
</p><p>A bikini beach pic with two other girls, girls with dark hair. She was the most noticeable the tallest the hottest the one with red hair the biggest tits the slimmest waist the widest hips the best. Are those nips are those labes fuck fuck fuck she’s wearing white this is bad. Um, is that the Wolf’s Den by the White Knife in the background just look at the next picture. A close-up selfie with a husky or something. <em>Wow what a cutie she’s so beautiful look at that smile she looks so happy I have literally never seen her smile before she is always sad and I wish I could make her smile but I can’t talk to her I’m not supposed to. </em>A full body shot with the husky again. Grey traditional Northern gown white fox pelt crown of blue winter roses like a fuckin Queen of Love and Beauty. Gods be good. A costume for the Feast of the Stranger. Is that Jonquil’s gown from the cartoon movie. Yes it is that’s Jonquil’s hairstyle you have that movie memorized but holy shit is that handmade. Did she buy it did she make it herself it doesn’t matter she is Jonquil.</p><p>
  <em>Gods be good this is what I want she looks perfect can I talk to her. Holy shit the profile Waymar helped me write. I don’t want her to message me first and have to block her just to be consistent what do I do now. I want to talk to her but I never message girls first I let them message me because Waymar said that’s what you do. Waymar why did we write it this way gods be good I wish she would message me first instead so I don’t mess up on the first try. What if it’s a joke profile sometimes people make those for fun what if Randa laughs at me for wanting one true love again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What if she doesn’t like me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Someone help me I don’t know what to do. I had a good day an awesome day why am I so scared right now and also horny fuck fuck fuck.</em>
</p><p>He closed Tinder. Cleared his throat. “Hey Steff. Let’s go lifting.”</p><p>***</p><p>Marsday was good. Market close back to normal cards are settling we win you lose we are the old blood of Westeros we own the Seven Kingdoms. Holy shit it worked. What a flex.</p><p>A class with Harry. Rocks for Jocks. Got out after market close. “Dom look at this.” An email from Clovis. “He wants us to meet him tonight. Ten pm.”</p><p>“Not just you?”</p><p>“Yeah he’s asking for you and Steff and Roland.”</p><p>“We’ll be there.”</p><p>Clovis met with Harry first, door closed drunk again. Turmeric ginger gin &amp; tonic, pepper too. His name was fucking <em>Spicer. </em>Five minutes later Harry came out shit eating grin bright eyes fucking <em>tears</em>. Harry got the girl. The good life the wife the kid. High fives all around. Party next Cronesday celebrate the engagement.</p><p>“Uhh you guys go in next. Without me.”</p><p>Another turmeric pepper ginger gin &amp; tonic. Clovis. Defeated. Facing the window. Couldn’t look at the door. Soft voice hoarse broken. “You won. My daughter. I tried to teach her values. We were going to change the old blood from the inside. I was going to teach my grandchildren respect for work. Respect for merit. Education. What have you all done to her. Why is she one of you now. I don’t care. She’s not my daughter anymore. There’s no point in working anymore. You people. These Seven Kingdoms. They can’t change. You won.”</p><p>He turned around. Knuckles white Clovis are you sure you want to break your glass that’s alcohol it will sting. “But. I am still the Provost for Acolyte Affairs at this Citadel. I want you off my campus. This is my space. You are not welcome in it.”</p><p>That was it. Holy shit what a slap on the wrist. Not gonna go to the Authority of Coin and Trade Clovis? Holy shit you pussy.</p><p>Lords &amp; Ladies never did anything on campus. They didn’t recruit. All the best event venues were off campus anyway. All this meant was they couldn’t hang up fucking fundraising posters.</p><p>***</p><p>Warsday. An 8am. <em>Gods be good why did I have to sign up for an 8am on a day we have reserves why can’t I just go back to sleep afterwards this was stupid. Because you like Helliweg you’ve taken all of Helliweg’s courses Chivalry &amp; Capital is only offered once every three years and last time you were a freshman and he was on sabbatical and you’re in the honors program and doing deep dive papers on the Age of Honor is fucking cool. </em></p><p>“Hey Wallace.”</p><p>“H-h-hi D-d-dom.” Wallace’s eyes narrowed. “Y-y-you kn-kn-know something.”</p><p>“I know a lot of things Wallace. I’m smart.” <em>Gods be good I can’t tell you Wallace I don’t want to be a Stud in the Slammer. </em></p><p>“Are you g-g-gonna t-t-tell me, D-d-dom? Ab-b-bout wh-wh-what you and R-r-roland and S-s-steff h-h-have b-b-been hiding.”</p><p>“Senior stuff Wallace. Senior secrets.”</p><p>“I s-s-smell a r-r-rat – ”</p><p>The door creaked. Someone new, stop talking. The door opened.</p><p>She was wearing a grey dress. Blue quilted jacket. Chunky pearl necklace chunky blue headband grey Hunter boots. <em>The Mother is merciful that dress not a tight one but holy shit she cannot hide it she is stacked. Fuck why isn’t the table higher why can I see that dress is short why can I see her legs are long why can’t girls just have floor length skirts all the time please stop I have a winning streak. Holy shit her hair is even better in real life did it always look like that I swear it didn’t look like that before when I talked to her that one time. Did she do something to it what is different about it why does she have a fucking halo is she an angel help help help.</em></p><p>
  <em>Gods be good Seven help me Father Mother Warrior Smith Maiden Crone Stranger that is Sansa Stark.</em>
</p><p>“Hi Wallace.”</p><p>“Hi S-s-sansa.”</p><p>She saw him. <em>Gods be good she’s looking at me. Gods be good she is smiling at me her eyes are lighting up like sunlight on the ocean her posture is changing should I say something should I stand up and get the chair for her we’re always supposed to do that when there’s a Lady in our class but fuck she’s gonna sit next to Wallace. Just say something talk to her you can do it.</em></p><p>“Good morning.” <em>Didn’t sound like a freak didn’t sound like a creep you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine.</em></p><p>“Hello.” <em>Holy shit. Is that a fuck me voice. It sounds like a fuck me voice I’ve heard a fuck me voice Sansa Stark should not have a fuck me voice it’s not allowed no no no. Does she like me she didn’t message me is she waiting for me to message her help help help.</em></p><p>He couldn’t help but think of it. The fucking Creed of the Faith of the Seven. <em>The Maiden came down from the sky and brought forth a girl supple as a willow with eyes like clear blue pools. And Hugor took her as his wife. And the Mother came down from the sky and blessed the girl’s womb, and she bore Hugor forty-four sons.</em></p><p>
  <em>Can I be Hugor in this story.</em>
</p><p>Just look away. Get your stuff. It’ll be okay.</p><p>The Mother is merciful. She sat down next to Wallace. They were talking about what happened. <em>Wallace you suspect something stop it everyone will want to know there was a mass email just shut up about it I am scared what if Roland talks he really trusts you Gods be good</em>. Gods be good.</p><p>The Mother is merciful. Three acolytes and two novices. Archmaester Helliweg. They had to stop talking about it.</p><p>Her eyes kept flicking over to him. While Helliweg was explaining the syllabus. Through the introductions. <em>Did she fucking blush and giggle at me when she said she likes ballroom dancing. Does she want me to dance with her. Why is she looking at me when she is saying where she lives. Does she want me to break into her room and steal her like a fucking wildling and drag her to my cave. Can I do that no I can’t do that no that’s illegal no I’m not Ramsay that is fucking rape. Holy shit it’s not about you Wallace said what freshman dorm he lived in too they are freshmen they just do that she likes dancing that is it. She likes singing too. Gods be good.</em></p><p>
  <em>Who am I and what do I do here. I have no idea. There is no blood in my brain anymore it doesn’t work. Name class year major hobby ok you can do it. Shit I forgot to say I play polo and am and into the stock market those are things that girls like in guys right. Why do I always do this wrong.</em>
</p><p>Class over. <em>Holy shit they’re talking about it again Wallace is going to talk to Roland Roland’s gonna tell should we just tell Wallace proactively and have him keep it secret. Saffron is a hint right he will ask later we can explain it to him fuck I wish I could cut someone’s tongue out they used to do that a thousand years ago it fucking worked. </em></p><p>
  <em>Wallace you’re making me fucking nervous you’re looking at me funny I think I don’t want you to be early anymore. Can you just study in the reading room.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wallace get her coat. Do it Wallace we taught you come on. You forgot when she came in. Fuck Wallace why do you need a reminder.</em>
</p><p>“Bye,” she said to him. <em>Cutie do you like me. I hope you like me I think you like me I am probably wrong. Holy shit holy shit holy shit.</em></p><p>***</p><p>Smithsday. A lifting morning. <em>Do Not Disturb I just want to listen to music.</em></p><p>
  <em>Three new missed calls One new voicemail from Robert Ryswell.</em>
</p><p>“Domeric Bolton you asshole. What have you been doing this week. The fucking Evenfall Stakes were this weekend and Roose and Pop-pop won and you didn’t fucking congratulate them. No text messages no calls no nothing what the fuck is wrong with you. You call my dad on Farsday morning to talk about the fucking stock market and tell him how to handle family money and you don’t fucking mention the Evenfall Stakes? Come on man you’re better than that. Call Pop-pop and Roose today or I’ll take the bullet train up the High Line and drag you up North myself. Also Beth’s birthday is tomorrow. Can you call her too post something nice for her Cley is still in Norvos not that you care asshole. Norvos doesn’t have the same semester schedule we have. She really misses him and it was really nice of you to go to the White Harbor formal with her and it will make her happy. Shit I sounded really aggressive. Um. I love you Dom. Um. Can you call me too. Wedding stuff. You’re my best man it’s important. Also Sara doesn’t like pink sorry the theme is gold and black we’ve talked about this no you can’t wear the pink tux yes that’s a final answer. Um. Also. I know you’re kinda busy but I miss you a lot. So. Uh. Yeah just text me we’ll find a time. Bye man.”</p><p>
  <em>Holy shit I am a terrible person.</em>
</p><p>After class was over it was game night at the Tower but family phone calls were more important.</p><p>Talk about horses keep it about horses if it’s about horses no one asks you anything difficult.</p><p>“You sound nervous about something. You’re not like this. Forgetting about the Seven Crowns. What’s wrong boy. Tell Pop-pop.”</p><p>
  <em>Holy shit we already told Wallace did it get out how.</em>
</p><p>“Is it girl stuff again.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Well. I’ve said my piece to you before. You’ll do fine.”</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>“I love you Domeric.”</p><p>“Love you too Pop-pop.”</p><p>Picture for Beth that was the last thing. White Harbor formal that’s what Robbie said it would make her happy. Facebook pictures Facebook pictures. <em>Why is Robb Stark in all of these pictures. Yes it was his party but why am I posing with Robb Stark. Am I an alcoholic. Why don’t I remember that. Holy shit there’s a comment on this one that says “Remember I told you to give Sansa a hug for me”. Can I still do that. Is it too late. Robb Stark if I send you a screenshot of this comment two months later and say I remembered and I did it will you get mad because we matched on Tinder now I want to raw her and if I hug her I’ll be hard. Fuck fuck fuck. Picture for Beth picture for Beth put a fancy filter on it. It’s after midnight it’s fine to post this now.</em></p><p>
  <em>Holy shit I am a terrible person.</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>“D-d-dom. Y-y-you’re n-n-not g-g-gonna sit there.”</p><p>“I always sit there, Wallace. Looking at the clock. It’s been my spot for four years.”</p><p>“D-d-dom. Y-y-you are an idiot. Th-th-that g-g-girl l-l-likes y-y-you.” <em>Maybe I should listen to Wallace he would know better or maybe he is yanking my chain I can never tell with this guy he is a fucking troll. </em>“D-d-dom. Th-th-this is y-y-your n-n-new seat.” Wallace pointed two away from him. “Y-y-you d-d-do the coat. C-c-come on. It’s k-k-kino. Th-th-this is b-b-basic s-s-stuff.”</p><p>
  <em>Basic stuff holy shit I don’t know what kino is.</em>
</p><p>“Th-th-this is why you d-d-don’t h-h-have a g-g-girlfriend. I’ll h-h-help you. D-d-don’t w-w-worry. You’ll b-b-be f-f-fine.”</p><p>
  <em>If you say so, Wallace. </em>
</p><p>Robbie sent him the article. Link to the video. <em>What a race wow Roose you stud I am fucking proud. Wish I could have been there. I’ll be there for Gulltown don’t worry I’ll see it.</em></p><p>The door creaked open again. <em>Please don’t be her please don’t be her I’m not ready yet I haven’t asked Wallace about kino.</em></p><p>“Hi Wallace,” she said. <em>You have to look at her don’t be a pussy do it girls are like horses they can smell fear.</em></p><p>“Hi S-s-sansa,” Wallace said.</p><p>“Hello,” she whispered. <em>A whisper what is that it’s not a fuck me voice but is she doing the shy thing is she shy around me is there something in her throat what is it I like the shy thing don’t hope you idiot.</em></p><p>“Good morning.” <em>Good good you sounded fine you didn’t fuck it up.</em></p><p>Wallace looked at him. <em>Wallace can you just do it again I know I’ll mess it up somehow this time it’s not easy like with Ysilla or Ellyn you didn’t tell me about kino okay fine. </em>He cleared his throat and looked at her. There it was again. The sunlight on the ocean. Eyes like clear blue pools. A smile like pearls under an oil lamp. <em>Is that smile for me I think so I want it to be for me but I also want you to put on the Stranger’s mask and baggy robes. </em></p><p>She put her bag on the floor. <em>Holy shit. I have to touch her.</em></p><p>Just like a horse. Just like a horse. <em>Holy shit I haven’t been afraid of a horse since I was three what is wrong with me right now. I think Cass has the same coat. Ok that’s fine it’s just Cass you can help Cass into her seat just fine it’s just Cass it’s just Cass. Holy shit that smell is this why they use incense in the sept do the gods only speak to you through your nose. Why isn’t that in the Seven-Pointed Star you hear the gods you see the gods what is the word for a vision in a scent. Cass doesn’t look like that no not at all Cass doesn’t have a rack like that is that why they put stripes in hypnosis videos. Holy shit are those lemons on her panties her ass is perfect why would you wear white pants I can see everything no no no. </em></p><p>Is the chair scraping you are a fucking loser you’ve had this down for years what is wrong with you.</p><p>“Thank you,” she said.</p><p>“Yeah,” he said. That was rude the correct response was you’re welcome you are stupid. Sit back down and read about the race and screw your head on straight.</p><p>“You said you like horses,” she said.</p><p><em>Gods be good. The Mother is merciful. She must like me she’s smiling at me she talked to me first and she threw me a softball.</em> “I said I <em>love</em> horses.”</p><p>Wallace sighed. Fucking Wallace. Go away.</p><p>***</p><p>This girl was perfect.<em> Sansa Stark you are perfect. You make me smile you make me happy you smile at me you’re nice to me you listen to me talk about horses I love you can we get married on Strainsday I don’t have plans I want you with me forever.</em></p><p>
  <em>Sansa Stark. Cutie. You are my one true love.</em>
</p><p>***</p><p><em>Cutie what’s wrong. Why are you frowning why are you scared what did I do what did I say I’m so sorry how did this happen. </em>“I’m sorry,” she said. “Excuse me.” <em>Cutie what happened tell me what I did tell me how I can fix it why are you running away no no no. </em></p><p>The door closed. “Wallace. What – I. Wallace – ”</p><p>“D-d-dom th-th-that w-w-was r-r-really g-g-great. Wh-wh-who kn-kn-knew. H-h-horses.”</p><p>“Wallace then why’d she run away. Why’d she do that man.”</p><p>“Sh-sh-she’s p-p-probably on her p-p-period or s-s-something. Y-y-you kn-kn-know once I w-w-was h-h-hanging out w-w-with B-b-bry at the T-t-twins and W-w-walda g-g-got h-h-her p-p-period in a wh-wh-white d-d-dress. Sh-sh-she g-g-got s-s-spooked. D-d-dom th-th-they’re not s-s-scary th-th-they’re j-j-just p-p-people – ”</p><p>“Why do girls wear white then.”</p><p>“S-s-so y-y-you s-s-see th-th-their underwear.”</p><p>“White’s supposed to be an innocent color.”</p><p>“O-o-only if y-y-you k-k-keep it c-c-clean.”</p><p><em>Holy shit Wallace.</em> “Wallace how do I fix it.”</p><p>“I-i-it’s n-n-not b-b-broken. Y-y-you’re f-f-fine. J-j-just b-b-be y-y-yourself. W-w-watch.”</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em>Cutie came back she’s smiling at me again she’s sitting next to me again she smells like the grace of the gods the light of the fucking Seven there’s sunlight on the ocean eyes like clear blue pools I love her how do I not ruin this.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>How will I fucking pass this class.</em>
</p><p>He cleared his throat and took out the Iron Bank book and his notes. <em>Helliweg is old he is a genius he is not a hot girl just look at Helliweg just listen to him it’s just school. You can do it.</em></p><p>
  <em>Class is over I get to touch her again get to talk to her again when can I see her again but if I say the wrong thing I’ll ruin it better let her talk first throw me another softball so I can ask her out.</em>
</p><p>“Are you sad?” she asked him, as he was helping her into her coat. “About what happened. The email. It’s your senior spring.”</p><p><em>Cutie no I don’t want to talk about it.</em> “It’s not like it’s the Long Night or anything.” <em>Holy shit it keeps coming up I need to talk to a fucking septa.</em></p><p>“You’re right,” she said. “Thank you.”</p><p>
  <em>I need to find a fucking septa.</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em>She said it was fine. I’m fine. She forgave me it’s fine I don’t have to think about it anymore. No more.</em>
</p><p>He looked at his phone. <em>Sansa Stark accepted your friend request Sansa Stark followed you on Instagram you idiot you forgot to ask her out. What should I say I’m not good at this I don’t want to mess it up let’s look at her pictures get some motivation.</em></p><p>Bikini beach pics on the White Knife yes that’s the Wolf’s Den. <em>Holy shit I can’t look at these. I can’t look at these. My winning streak my high score my soul is fucking clean okay. </em>Close Facebook close Instagram say the fucking Maiden’s prayer.</p><p>“Retard.” It was Mychel.</p><p>“Fuckface.”</p><p>“Hey, uhh. It’s a no sex day again. Can you uhh. Can you come lifting with me.”</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah. Of course. Let’s go lifting.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Days of the Week:<br/>Farsday/Monday - this one doesn't work<br/>Marsday/Tuesday (see what I did in romance languages tuesday is Mardi/Martes/etc)<br/>Warsday/Wednesday (see what I did odin is a god of war right).<br/>Smithsday/Thursday (see what I did thor has a hammer hahaha).<br/>Maidsday/Friday (see what I did Frigg is associated with Venus/vendredi)<br/>Cronesday/Saturday - this one doesn't really work either. I guess Crone/Time/Cronus/Saturn but it's a stretch.<br/>Strainsday/Sunday</p><p>No, I don't think you could actually avert a planned financial crisis like this, it would take more than a day, I didn't think about it, it's just a fanfic this is crack.</p><p>No, it is not realistic in our world for serial killer mail to be forwarded to the inmate's family home. The super max would just destroy that stuff. BUT Westeros is not realistic it's also worse than our world and maybe the Westerosi prison system is just corrupt and gross like that.</p><p>Yes, Littlefinger is a Bl**mberg expy in this AU. I'm not trying to say anything political with that I just think it really fits because of how Bl**mberg terminals help you know everything and Littlefinger kind of knows everything. Kind of, not really.</p><p>Yes, Debonair is an expy of Rake Magazine.</p><p>Let me know if you want any more background info for this AU.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. screwed up and brilliant million dollar man</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Harry and Saffron's engagement party.<br/>1. Before: Sansa talks to Robb and finds out that Domeric owes a hug.<br/>2. During: Kino. Kino. Dark Triad Mindset. You can do it, you have serial killer genes. Or: Sansa pursues her hug.<br/>3. After: Journey into the sordid Westerosi internet with the Royce cousins</p><p>See endnotes for warnings. They are kind of spoilery but please do check them out if you normally check out any type of warning at all.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey Sansa what’s up?”</p><p>Robb was smiling at her, a winning grin from ear to ear. His face took up half her laptop screen – the left half. On the right half she had Facebook up. She was sitting at her desk in Woodhull. On the shelf just above she’d arranged her pictures – Mom and Dad, Robb and Jon and Theon, Sansa and Arya and Jeyne, Rickon and Bran. All the huskies together. Everyone together. On the walls she’d hung a KLA pennant, framed concept art from the <em>Florian and Jonquil </em>cartoon movie, a panorama of Winterfell and the Wolfswood, and a garland of blue winter roses and wildflowers entwined with tiny electric lights. She’d had to move her makeup kits to her bookshelf to make room for her laptop and her Parchments sketchbok. Normally she studied in the OWL but today she wanted to talk to Robb and that meant she needed to stay in her room.</p><p>“Robb do you have time.”</p><p>“If I didn’t I’d clear my schedule for you, Sansa. What’s up?”</p><p>“So you have time now?”</p><p>“Yeah I have time now.”</p><p>She was as giddy as if she had coffee jitters even though it was ten o’clock at night.<em> I can’t wait to tell him, I hope he’s okay with it, I hope he’s happy for me. </em>“Do you remember. Um. When you told me to – to tell you again. When I liked a guy.”</p><p>“Yeah.” She could see Robb’s eyes light up through the screen. “Yeah. Of course. Do you like a guy again Sansa?”</p><p>She couldn’t talk she was so giddy. She could only smile and nod.</p><p>“Yeah you do?”</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah. I do like a guy.” Her face hurt. Her cheeks hurt her chest hurt he was awesome.</p><p>“Sansa. Sansa that’s great.” She hadn’t made any adjustments to the monitor but somehow Robb made the screen shine at full brightness. “Is he in Lords?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Do I know him?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Hmmm. I think you’re not gonna tell me who he is unless I poke around a bit more.” Robb was teasing her. <em>Of course I’ll tell you who he is Robb, that’s why I called you. </em>“Where’d you meet him?”</p><p>She felt her face heat up. <em>I can’t say I matched with him on Tinder, Mom doesn’t like Tinder and Robb knows how Mom feels. </em>“He’s in one of my classes.”</p><p>“Then he’s a freshman or a sophomore?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“A junior?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Now Robb’s eyebrows were knitting together. “He’s a senior?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Huh. Okay.” Robb was thinking. “I’m trying to think of the seniors there. I met them when we dropped you off. Don’t most of them have girlfriends?”</p><p>“Um. Mychel is Mya’s boyfriend but otherwise I don’t know. No wait. Um. Harry, he’s a senior too. His girlfriend’s name is Saffron.” No, that was wrong, Harry and Saffron were engaged now. “I don’t know about the other ones.”</p><p>“Except the one you like.”</p><p>“Yeah.” <em>His Facebook says he’s single. I hope he’s still single. I hope his relationship status doesn’t change tomorrow or tonight or right now unless it’s to say he’s a in a relationship with me or else I’ll be heartbroken and I don’t know what I’ll do.</em> She’d been checking every day.</p><p>“So are you gonna tell me who he is?” Now she felt giddy and jittery and warm again. <em>Robb please like him Robb please like him Robb please say you like him please.</em></p><p>“He’s. His name is – um. Domeric Bolton.”</p><p>Robb’s eyes went wide and his eyebrows shot up to his forehead. “Domeric Bolton?” <em>Robb oh no why are you covering your mouth? Do you not like him oh no. That doesn’t make sense Robb why are you Faceboook friends with him if you don’t like him?</em></p><p>“You don’t like him – ”</p><p>“No Sansa no don’t frown no that’s not what I mean. No you have it wrong. Sansa Sansa Sansa. Domeric Bolton. <em>That guy is really cool.</em>” <em>Gods be good thank you Robb I’m so happy thank you.</em></p><p>“You think so?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Robb was smiling and nodding again. “I’m gonna share my screen. I’ll show you. I’m gonna tell you a story. You see the Fright Night Album? It’s a private album, you won’t see these from your account. You see it?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“So before I open it. Do you remember Beth Ryswell.”</p><p>“She’s his cousin right?”</p><p>“Yeah. But that’s not what I mean. I guess it is. I guess you don’t remember. Um. Well, anyway you were in the same class year at Barrowton Lower school but I guess you must not have interacted with her much, the Ryswells are big into the horse stuff and um. You are not.” <em>No Robb don’t laugh at me I need to get into the horse stuff what if he doesn’t like me because I’m not into horses Robb he LOVES horses.</em></p><p>“Yeah well you remember my buddy Cley right? He hung with us that one time in the Wolfswood?”</p><p>“Yeah I remember Cley.”</p><p>“Well Cley, in the middle of the semester, he got offered this internship in Norvos and you know how they have that funky schedule? He had to leave in the middle he’s gonna have to redo a few credits, it’s weird I’m rambling. Anyway it’s at this company that Cerwyn Holdings has been looking at for a while and – crap don’t repeat that, it’s on the DL, about Cerwyn Holdings – and he just couldn’t pass it up. The opportunity. So he left like a week before winter formal, it was gonna be Beth’s first formal and they’ve been long distance since he graduated BRDB and she was super down after he left. And like – do you remember Robert. Her brother? Guess not, you didn’t talk to the Ryswells that much. Anyway Robert wanted to go with her cause his fiancée is at Oldtown for the semester but <em>he</em> was doing that semester-at-sea thing and he couldn’t find a way to make it work. But the Ryswells they’re like a tight family right. Just like us. So he calls us up at the White House while they’re like. I don’t know. Out by Fair Isle or something – ”</p><p>“Robb this has nothing to do with Domeric Bolton – ”</p><p>“Sansa I’m getting there. I’m <em>almost there</em>. Anyway he says <em>guys so my cousin Dom at Gulltown he’s gonna fly up for the weekend to go with Beth, can you put him up in my room in the house. </em>Yeah of course we can of course. And Robert says <em>also make sure you take pictures of everything he does you will want to remember that stuff.</em>”</p><p>“He likes to take pictures too?”</p><p>“Uh. Yeah. EP guys are like that. You know. Um. Really showy, competitive with each other. They like. They were the ones who made the promposal standard absurd, it’s their thing. Something about the Vale, they are weird, I don’t know what it is.” Sansa nodded. She’d seen the pictures for Harry’s proposal. Someone had flown a small plane with a giant red and white falcon streaming behind it. She’d been in class but the seniors had hijacked the PA system and called Saffron out of HumHall while Harry took a parachute down to the High Quadrangle Green and got down on one knee. <em>I thought Lords had been kicked off campus,</em> she’d thought. But then again Saffron was the Provost’s daughter so maybe there had been an exception.</p><p>“Anyway. So. We pick him up on Maidsday evening, the formal’s Cronesday, and he says, <em>can one of you drop me off at the car club.</em>”</p><p>“The car club?”</p><p>“It’s where the car guys keep their cars when in town. Like, the attendants there, they’ll maintain it, take it out once a week, make sure the battery doesn’t die, they’re trustworthy. You have a spot.”</p><p>“OK.”</p><p>“So. He comes back parks the car in the house garage. Spends the morning with his cousin, you know, brunch, downtown, hang out, lets her get ready. Then he goes to pick her up. Look at this.”</p><p>“Is that what I think it is?” He was getting out of a shiny gold sports car with tinted windows. Two-seater, gull wing doors. Low to the ground. It looked fast.</p><p>“Yeah. An ’88 GG. A Galazza Galare and a megaphone. He said <em>Bethany Ryswell Bethany Ryswell your favorite cousin is here to escort you to the haunted opera house – </em>gods be good, that guy - ”</p><p>“Did it make the cool engine sound?”</p><p>“Hells yeah it made the cool engine sound.”</p><p>“Is it his?”</p><p>“No I think it was from the car club, on loaner, he was telling us he has a Mustang. It’s red. He lends it out sometimes.”</p><p>“Is that real gold?”</p><p>“I think so? You know the Meereenese, they put real stuff on their grace stuff. OK now I’m gonna show you the <em>sunglasses</em>. Sansa look those are <em>wild. </em>I mean I knew the Boltons used to be kinda morbid but wow those sunglasses – ”</p><p>His sunglasses were skulls. Bright red frames, pink and red tints to resemble flayed skulls. <em>Where did he get those</em>? His dark hair was gelled back away from his part, crisp white shirt, black tux, blood red bow tie, black velvet lapels, ruby studs. In the picture he was in the GG outside what must have been the Mermaids’ Cove, where the White Harbor Ladies lived. He was tipping down the sunglasses, looking over the frames. <em>He’s so cool. He’s so cool. He’s so handsome he’s so hot. Wow. Wow. Wow. He has to love me back or I’ll be heartbroken again.</em></p><p>Robb kept showing her more pictures. The performance at the Opera House. The spooky wight-themed decorations. The rubber faces hanging on the walls. “So yeah. That guy. Domeric Bolton. Kinda quirky but <em>really cool. </em>After Beth was partied out and he dropped her off he hung with us, he’s a total bro. His cousin, he treated her like a princess the whole night, didn’t dance with any other girls, made sure she didn’t drink too much. He made her feel like a star. Sansa if you like him, <em>that’s great</em>, that’s exactly the kind of guy I want for my little sister – ”</p><p>“Really Robb?”</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah I really mean that. I like. I want this to work out. Do you want me to call him up for you – ”</p><p>“No Robb – it’s OK – um. I have – um. Can we go fullscreen?”</p><p>“Yeah. Sure.”</p><p>“Do you remember the card I made for Joffrey when I told him I liked him?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Robb was frowning.<em> Sansa I’m not gonna lie to you I want to sic Grey Wind and the huskies on that guy. If I see him he is dead I don’t care about prison time. There’s this blog, Studs in the Slammer, Alys Karstark showed it to me, once they know my story I’ll be a hero, there’ll be legions of fangirls writing petitions to get me out.</em></p><p>“Well. Um. I just. Like, I feel like I did back then? Before Joffrey. Like, um. Oh no – I’m laughing. I found myself in logic class – like doodling my signature like I used to do when I liked Joffrey. Robb look at this.” She took her logic quiz out and held it up. “Robb look at this.”</p><p>“Sansa that’s adorable. Sansa Bolton. Mrs. Domeric Bolton. Gods be good – ”</p><p>“Which one do you like best?”</p><p>“Oh wow. Well they’re all great. I like the really curly one with the flourish at the bottom but you know your handwriting, everything you make is just beautiful – ”<em>Robb you’re laughing at me no I know it’s funny but it’s embarrassing –  </em>“but maybe you should show that to him Gods be good Sansa that would be so adorable – ”</p><p>“No, no, no, <em>Robb – </em>um. Um. So I made a card like I made Joffrey a card? Well. Um. I made him a card too? Um. I know this is weird but I looked up his Instagram and he really likes Florian and Jonquil too so I made it look like the um. The fancy jewel encrusted book cover at the beginning of the cartoon movie? And like on the inside for the stock message I put one of the silly lines from that song they have together and I drew the part where they’re just – um. You know like holding both their hands between their shoulders by their faces?”</p><p>“Yeah. What’d you write, Sansa?”</p><p>“Gods be good I’m so embarrassed – ”</p><p>“Why? Nothing you write could be embarrassing. Wait it’s not you know, <em>hot stuff</em>, is it?”</p><p>“No! No, no no no. Um. I said. Here, I’ll read it to you – Hi Domeric I kind of have a huge crush on you, I think you’re really cool, I’d really like to get to know you better, maybe we could go for coffee or brunch sometime? I’m sorry if this is too much or if you think this is weird but I saw you like Florian and Jonquil too and Florian and Jonquil are my favorite. My favorite story my favorite movie my favorite song since forever.” <em>No that’s the part where I write about how we matched on Tinder I think he’s really hot but I don’t know what his profile means. I can’t tell Robb that no. </em>“I. um. I like you a lot and think you like me too and I think we could have something really special like Florian and Jonquil. How does that sound?”</p><p>“That’s great Sansa. I would want to get a card like that.” Robb looked so happy. “Why do you think he likes you?”</p><p><em>He super liked me when we matched on Tinder. </em>“Um. I just – I think so? He had another seat on the other side of the seminar table the first day but now he sits next to me and we always talk before class starts and um. Um. The first day he didn’t really smile that much but now he smiles every time I talk to him and. Um. I know this is just a Gulltown thing but he always helps me with my coat and my chair? Wallace – Wallace Waynwood, he’s my friend, you met Roland Waynwood right? Wallace is his uncle – Wallace is in our class too and he got my coat the first day but now he never does? Um – Robb I just think so I really want him to like me back maybe I’m being silly – wait Robb don’t look away no no Robb you have to pay attention – ”</p><p>“No Sansa I was looking for something – I found it – I forgot about it before but now I remember, yeah. Yeah this picture. So after the party we went back to the house. The guys. And started getting trashed – don’t do that, you shouldn’t do that – anyway I remember this now, I talked to him about Gulltown, I missed you – <em>oh man – </em>I asked him to give you a hug for me. Did he ever give you that hug Sansa?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Then he owes me one. Here let me take a screenshot of it on my phone, I’ll send it to you. You get that hug from him Sansa.” <em>That’s awesome. That’s awesome! Robb you are the best!</em></p><p>“Okay – so – um. Robb. Um. So – there’s this party tomorrow. It’s for Harry and Saffron. At the Jeyne Arryn House. Um. Do you think – should I ask for the hug there, or should it be somewhere else? And also where do I give him the card? Should it be at the party or like, um, after class. Also – Robb – um. He, like, he has an album, he plays the harp, it’s all about old folk tales? Like Florian and Jonquil, Serwyn of the Mirror Shield, Shella and the Rainbow Knight? And – and – I think I can make some art for him, that’s a thing I am good at – Robb how do I tell him I want to make him album artwork?”</p><p>“So – uh – I would say. Just make some artwork and have him pick, that would be what <em>I </em>would want. Options. but you know, he’s not me, he might not have decision fatigue all the time, he might want to design it himself. But – uh. The card. The card’s for after class, the hug is for the party. Less people after class, the party is the excuse to loosen up a bit. Yeah. Gods be good I’m so happy right now.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah. I have my little sister back.”</p><p>***</p><p>It was Cronesday. Her phone buzzed. There was a text.</p><p>Robb: Sansa here’s your screenshot. Tell me how it went. Remember no drinking. Love you sis</p><p>Robb: ALSO don’t forget this. Ask him about jousting</p><p>***</p><p>“D-d-dom. R-r-remember. <em>K-k-kino</em>.” <em>Holy shit Wallace why do you have to make up a new word for touching that’s really fucking dumb.</em></p><p>“Kino. Yeah. Where do you get this stuff Wallace.”</p><p>“Th-th-the Es-s-sos trip. It w-w-was a F-f-frey th-th-thing and S-s-steff and B-b-bry w-w-wanted s-s-sane c-c-company. B-b-black W-w-walder has a b-b-blog. <em>D-d-dark T-t-triad M-m-mindset.”</em>  <em>Holy shit Wallace DTM is Black Walder that shit is insane Wallace I don’t want to play with her she is a nice girl I want her to be my girlfriend my wife the fucking mother of my children Wallace why’d you tell me that.</em></p><p>“Wallace isn’t DTM supposed to be anonymous. How can I trust you Wallace.” <em>Fuck fuck fuck why did we tell this guy.</em></p><p>Wallace pulled out his phone’s image vault. “N-n-now y-y-you kn-kn-know.” <em>Holy shit Wallace. </em></p><p>“Weren’t you like 15 on the Essos trip.”</p><p>“F-f-fourteen.” <em>Holy shit Wallace.</em> “D-d-dom. Y-y-you c-c-can d-d-do it. Y-y-you h-h-have a l-l-leg up. S-s-serial k-k-killer g-g-genes. D-d-dom l-l-look at y-y-yourself y-y-you h-h-have n-n-nothing t-t-to w-worry ab-bout y-y-you are a st-st-stud. I h-h-heard ab-b-bout it. Y-y-you l-l-laid p-p-pipe f-f-freshman year. It’s all in y-y-your h-h-head - ”</p><p>
  <em>Freshman year was really different and it wasn’t even that many it was like one girl every few weeks and they were all crazy fine Wallace it’s all in my head no I’m not gonna change my clothes if there’s anything I feel confident about it is my clothes you’re the one wearing Roland’s fucking nasty old neon wagon wheel tie with stains in it okay why do you want us to drive no I’m not gonna take the Mustang out it’s just the Jeyne Arryn House do you just want to drive the Mustang is there a girl you want to show it to what do you mean you’re bored of EP girls holy shit don’t say that about them they’re Ladies you can’t say that I don’t wanna know that please don’t say that Wallace okay Wallace fine you can be my wingman tonight I drink IRON GAUNTLET old fashioneds. Northern pride gotta support the Glovers just IRON GAUNTLET all right nothing else. Neat not on the rocks okay I hate that shit watered down use the fucking whiskey stones.</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>The theme was “Birds in a Garden”, and they were decorating the Jeyne Arryn House. The Jeyne Arryn House wasn’t named after <em>the </em>Jeyne Arryn from the Targaryen period; it was named after Jeyne Arryn of Gulltown, who had been the first woman to attend the city’s new Citadel. The Arryns of Gulltown built the house for her to keep her out of the Citadel dormitories and safeguard her maiden’s gift. Her 55-room Valyrian Revival mansion had twisting white columns adorned with soaring blue falcons and golden vines. White and Blue. Arryn colors.</p><p>Lady Jeyne had used her ground floor for entertaining guests. Displaying art. Hosting lecturers and writers and poets. A lounge, an open-air courtyard, a kitchen, a dining room, a ballroom, a main reception hall with an airy white dome and a fountain full of calling birds. Upstairs she’d kept her personal effects and her library and her office and her lovers. Now the Ladies lived upstairs. Each room had a plaque and a black-framed black-and-white lithograph of how Lady Jeyne had left it. The Jeyne Arryn House, like the Gull Tower, was registered with the Westeros Trust for Historic Preservation as a Site of Continental Significance.</p><p>Sansa was stringing up a garland of roses of assorted colors and sizes in the main reception hall. <em>I don’t understand why they’re having the party here, </em>she’d mentioned to Randa. <em>The Spicers aren’t old blood. Saffron’s not a Lady. Why isn’t Harry having his party somewhere else?</em></p><p>Randa had bristled at her question. “I – I don’t know. I don’t know, and I <em>hate</em> it. Lorella – Lorella Waynwood, that’s Wallace’s older sister, she was First Lady when I was a freshman, she called us with Old Lady Anya, she’s our biggest supporter, and <em>wow </em>they strong armed us. Once Maid of Honor, always Maid of Honor, you know how it goes. <em>Of course, my lady. </em>So we just have to.”</p><p>It was all Harry’s fault, she’d understood. Harry had gotten Saffron pregnant, and Provost Spicer had retaliated by kicking the Lords off campus. “It’s not the biggest deal, Sansa. We can still have parties. It still kinda sucks though. Dom – you know Dom, right? The Master of Laws? He went through the Citadel of Gulltown Charter and like, proved to us that all it means that we can’t do advertising or fundraising on campus. Not that we need to but, um, yeah, it still sucks.”</p><p>The Ladies handled all of the advertising for L&amp;L. It was tradition. Back in the Age of Honor ladies used to sew their houses’ banners, their men favors. Now Ladies sometimes sewed banners, but they also made floats, full-wall murals, posters. Art. <em>I’d really been looking forward to it.</em></p><p>“And Saffron’s going to be a Lady now?”</p><p>“Yeah. She’s marrying Harry. She will be a Lady.”</p><p>Her garland was up. She had nothing to do anymore so she went to get ready. She smiled at Cynthea Frey and Annette Waynwood when she arrived at the dressing room. Circular incandescent bulbs with tiny tungsten filaments around a long oval mirror with an ornate gilt frame over a long marble countertop piled with <em>makeup makeup perfume makeup.</em> They were freshmen too. <em>Those are only half-smiles, like after it happened. I wonder what I did to them. </em></p><p>They ignored her. “So Annette. Annette. We <em>have </em>to be nice to Saffron. Did you see how mean Grandmama was to her at the family announcement brunch. Oh my gosh Annette. Harry was so embarrassed. You – uh. You were not there, um. I think you were purging, you missed it. But. Harry, when Grandmama went off to take her meds. He took Lorella and me and Mom and Aunt Marcia and Aunt Jeyne and was like. <em>Please please please don’t let that happen again. Or like if it happens again please take her aside and apologize and say we’re not all like that. I know she thinks she did me a favor Saffron a favor but please that was so awful it hurt me. I’ll talk to Aunt Anya too but. She’ll listen to you more. Please please please. For me. For Saffron. I love her I want her to feel welcome she is family please please please. Her dad hates her and her mom always does what her dad says and she thinks they’re gonna go no contact after the baby and it’s really hard for her right now. Please please please.”</em></p><p>“Cynth that’s awful.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“I feel so bad. For Harry. And Saffron. Gods be good. Cynth.”</p><p>“Yeah.” <em>Gods be good. That’s like after prom but with your family. I am a terrible person.</em></p><p>“Should we ask. Um. Other ladies to. Um. Be nice to Saffron.” They were looking at her. She was done with her makeup.</p><p>“Yeah.” There was an awkward silence. “Hey. Um. Hi Sansa. Um. Did you hear us?”</p><p>“I did.”</p><p>“Can you be nice to Saffron? It’s just. Um. If you do it, you’re like. Really old blood. I mean. I’m just a Frey, we’re like, <em>new blood old blood. </em>And both of us are freshmen. But you are, like, a Stark. You are a Stark. That means a ton. Um. If <em>you </em>are nice to Saffron we <em>all </em>have to be nice to Saffron.”</p><p><em>No one should have to feel like that. </em>She smiled at them. “Yeah. Of course.”</p><p>“So. Um. We’re done. Are you done? The seniors want to see us when we’re done.”</p><p>“No uh, Cynth. My um, my mints, I need to put them in my clutch. Should they be in the clutch or should they be in the bra?”</p><p>“The bra. It’s hotter.”</p><p>“OK.” Annette took out a tin of <em>SPICER INTERNATIONAL </em>Spearmint dissolvables, transferred the contents into a tiny plastic-lined quilted pouch, and stuffed it in her bra. “Hey I got a six pack of these tins. Do you need one Cynth?”</p><p>“No, I have my own. And I don’t like the spearmint, I use the cinnamon – ”</p><p>“Cinnamon’s gross. You’re gross, Cynth. Sansa do you need one? I only have spearmint, sorry.”</p><p>“Like. If you kiss a guy? I thought it was just drinks and dessert, I already brushed my teeth after dinner – ”</p><p>“No. Um. For after dessert. Um. I guess. You don’t purge. Um, that’s fine. But wow. Just wow – you eat like you do and you look like that? How. I’m so jealous gods be <em>good</em>.”</p><p>“I just go the gym every day – ”</p><p>“Well so do I but wow you don’t purge? Wow. Gods be good – ”</p><p>“Annette it just goes to her boobs. She’s so lucky. I told you, it’s that Stark blood. Really old blood. Magic. Come on Annette I told you. Um. Sansa, we’re ready, do you want to go upstairs? The rest of the ladies, they’ll want to see us – ”</p><p>“I’m ready. Thank you. Let’s go upstairs.”</p><p>They reached Randa’s room. Jeyne Arryn’s room. Randa was the Maid of Honor. She had a four-poster bed, wood painted white, gilt filigrees, sky blue upholstery headboard. The desk, vanity, wardrobe, table, all the chairs were out of the same set. All original. Someone came to maintain it and do damage checks once a week. “Wow. You all look great. Love it. Sansa. Wow. Tell us more about that dress.”</p><p>“It was my mom’s.” <em>Sansa these tassels are thread-of-silver by Serrett make sure you take care of this. You are much taller than I ever was so take care to wear boots and tights with it. I met your father in this dress, I want it to have a second life, and it suits you better than your sister. But dear, you are so tall…  </em></p><p>“What spanx are you using? You like, can’t see it. At all.”</p><p>“Um. I’m not wearing spanx.”</p><p>“No? What? You’re lying to us – ”</p><p>“No, no, Randa, no – Cynth and I saw it – she’s wearing one of the stick-on strapless bras and a thong. That’s it. Lemon yellow, that’s it. Sansa really looks like that.”</p><p>“Gods be good. Sansa. Who knew? I mean, we all know you’re just gorgeous but. Wow. Sansa. Stark blood is magic. Or is it Tully blood. I don’t know. You always wear those sweaters loose blouses straight dresses, you’re always hiding it. But. Wow. I mean. Is it a guy? Is there a guy you like? One of the Lords?”</p><p>She covered her mouth. <em>No I’m a pomegranate again I just know it they’re going to laugh at me. I can’t talk or they’ll laugh at me…</em></p><p>“It’s a guy, it’s a guy, Sansa, that’s great, you’re on the market again. I’m so happy for you! Who is it?” She shook her head.</p><p>“All right. It’s a secret. But. Tell us about it afterward. Gods be good those are big. I mean. Not like, <em>me </em>big, but still. <em>Big</em> big. And your ass. Gods be good your <em>ass,</em> Sansa. <em>Gods be good that ass. </em>Wow. I mean, wow wow wow. How is that even possible.”</p><p>“Magic Stark blood,” Ysilla supplied.</p><p>“Magic Stark blood.”</p><p>“I guess so.”</p><p>Randa raised an eyebrow. “Okay Sansa. Have fun. But you better tell us who this guy is.”</p><p>***</p><p>Door open dust off your shoes coat in the coatroom number sixty-six that’s yours. <em>Holy shit those roses are nice they smell really pretty that’s in the new Tyrell catalog that one’s a pheasant that one’s a quail is that a kestrel is that an osprey can’t really tell the ice is melting gotta take a pic before it’s gone. Man that’s really sad taxidermy birds but they have to die anyway hope they don’t throw them away hope they’re a rental hope they get donated to a museum or something can they give that one to me there was a tiny cardinal that Jonquil sang to in the cartoon movie hey Randa can I have that thank you yes I know your Venmo username the girls did a great job today this is really cool.</em></p><p>
  <em>Holy shit that’s her holy shit why did I wear this suit it’s a fucking Lyseni slim fit not a pleated front it will fucking print fuck I should have listened to Wallace but my Westerosi classic cut is the wrong color should have gone with a different outfit fuck I wanted midnight blue and I love these surgeon cuffs. She is standing next to Mya Mya is walking towards Mychel I am not ready no not at all. Holy shit holy shit holy shit look at her don’t look at her not yet.</em>
</p><p>“Wallace let’s head to the bar.”</p><p>***</p><p>Everyone was packed into the ballroom. Valyrian revival twisting white columns, diving blue falcons, golden vines. Lush golden molding, ceiling-high mirrors, partly cloudy blue sky and a full moon up above. You wouldn’t believe it was a mural but for the bronze chandelier of soaring falcons with blinding candles as their prey. Circular high tops, white tablecloths, topped with roses, roses, birds, birds, <em>birds</em>.  There was a champagne fountain in the shape of the Giant’s Lance, and mini falcon diving every fifteen seconds, never touching Alyssa’s Tears.</p><p>Saffron and Harry were at the high table just for two. Swan-neck chair backs in the shape of a heart, and heart-shaped red cushions too. Wood painted white, carved to look like feathers. Harry wore a white tux jacket, black tux pants. Saffron wore a red dress, tea length, tight bodice, princess skirt, high boatneck. Silk damask with golden threads. <em>It looks like shiny saffron.</em> She had a pearl necklace and a pearl headband and loud red and white lozengy pumps, pointed toe, patent leather. <em>She looks like a lady, </em>Sansa thought. <em>She acts like a lady. It will be easy to be nice to her. She’s wearing pearls though. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn these. It’s her day today.</em></p><p>The chiming tinkle of forks against glass heralded the toasts, the speeches. <em>No one’s here for Saffron, </em>she realized. <em>All the speeches are from Harry’s friends. Even the ones about Saffron. </em>She looked over to where Domeric was standing. Up by the front. All the senior guys were up by the front. Most of the Ladies were in the back, except for the Waynwood girls.</p><p>“Hi Annette. Hi Cynthea – ”</p><p>“Sansa you can call me Cynth you know – ”</p><p>Harry had the microphone again. “So – so – so. Everyone. One last thank you. Dom. Dom. Domeric Bolton. Where are you man? My friend. My brother. Get up here.” He was wearing a midnight blue suit. Cashmere, or a cashmere blend. Crisp white shirt, blood red tie with pink flayed men writhing on crosses. <em>That’s one of a kind</em>, she thought. <em>Just for him</em>. He had hot pink socks, oxblood shoes, oxblood belt, pink and red cuff links, and a baby pink pocket square. <em>It’s the bird</em>, she thought. <em>Jonquil’s bird. When she was singing in the pool</em>. <em>He’s so cool</em>. “Gods be good thank you so much. You know – everyone – me and Saffron – we almost fell apart. It was my fault. You all know how stuff is always my fault. Anyway. I lose her, Dom finds me right afterward, he says, Harry, we’re gonna fix this. On my honor as a knight you’ll get Saffron back. Dom. Dom. My man. My brother. You fixed it. It’s all thanks to you I have Saffron back. That we have each other back. All of this. Domeric Bolton. You are a knight in shining armor. A hero. Our hero. What are you all doing just clap for him already.”</p><p>She raised her martini glass of simple syrup tonic water lemon juice and a lemon twist. <em>He’s a hero</em>, she thought. <em>Gods be good. He is amazing.</em></p><p>***</p><p>
  <em>Cutie’s looking at me she’s smiling at me she put down her drink and she’s clapping for me.</em>
</p><p>Her dress was silver. Didn’t pass the finger rule. Thigh high suede boots, kitten heels, pointed toes. Deep v-neck, deep v-back, long sleeves. Scalloped waves lined with tassels swished and shimmered as she moved.  <em>Shit her tits look huge holy shit there’s a wave with tassels hanging at the level of her nipples holy shit holy shit holy shit. Is she wearing a bra is it strapless that dress is tight how are her tits staying up. Holy shit those aren’t tits they are jugs. Huge succulent jugs. Fucking milkers hey mommy dad is pretty thirsty too fuck fuck fuck.</em></p><p>
  <em>Why’d she even bother wearing tights there’s only an inch or two just take off your tights so I can touch those thighs bare. Gods be good look at that choker that choker is amazing like what. Three strings of pearls tied with a blue ribbon it’s like a dog collar a bondage collar wait she’s a Stark it’s a fuckin wolf collar. Cutie can you be my wolf on a chain. Can I take a fucking pearl string leash and walk you around watch you crawl around in front of me watch your ass swing watch your pussy keep making shiny delicious pussy juice let me sniff you lick you raw you like a dog. Gods be good holy shit I want this girl so bad I want to flay a wolfskin off wear it like a cloak smear blood on my face change into a wolf cutie let’s rut like wolves. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gods be good I am a degenerate she is Sansa Stark no no no.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Holy shit am I printing I am standing up here can they all see how hard I am can she see how hard I am she is standing right there holy shit. Harry and Saffron in fifteen years your kids will look at this picture and ask you why Dad has his arm around a fucking perv.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Holy shit she’s walking up here. </em>
</p><p>“Hey Saffron,” she said. “Can I get a picture with you.” Next to Harry Saffron’s eyebrows must have hit the ceiling.</p><p>“Sure,” Saffron said. <em>The Mother is merciful Harry let me go I need to get to the bar it’s fine the Waynwood girls are giggling no one will notice that I’m gone.</em></p><p>***</p><p>She was used to the flashes. She kept her eyes wide open, her arm around Saffron’s shoulder, Cynthea’s around her waist. <em>Where’s he going? Where’s he going? </em>The pictures were done so she could crane her neck to look. <em>The bar.</em></p><p>“Hey, Sansa,” she heard Randa say. She was fresh off a scowl and clutching her drink. “We’re going upstairs.” She had Ysilla on one arm and Cassandra on the other. They didn’t want to hang around Saffron’s party.</p><p>“That’s fine,” she said. “Bye.” While she waved she sought him with her eyes. <em>Good, he’s still at the bar.</em></p><p> ***</p><p>
  <em>Fuck fuck fuck is that her. What do I say. I need a minute. I need to drink this. Wine of courage? Whiskey of courage. Old fashioned courage.</em>
</p><p>The glass was cool against his lips, and when he sipped, he sighed.</p><p>
  <em>I can do it. What did Wallace say? Kino. Kino. Dark Triad Mindset. I can do it I laid pipe when girls said I had a serial killer face I have serial killer genes I am a Bolton Ramsay’s a Bolton we have the same dad it’s in my blood. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bolton mindset. Serial Killer Mindset.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I can do it.</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>“You can’t drink that, it’s the kid stuff. Come on, no one’ll tell.”</p><p>“Um – ” <em>No, no, Robb said no… </em>“I’m sorry, erm – ”</p><p>“Jon Wickenden XXVII. But you can call me Wix.”</p><p>“Um, Jon, um, I, um, thanks, I actually like the kid stuff, I just like lemons a lot – ”</p><p>“We’ll get you a whiskey sour or a lemon drop.”</p><p>“I don’t – ”</p><p>“Wix. You heard the lady. She wants the kid stuff.” It was <em>him, </em>and <em>he</em> was scowling at Jon Wickenden XXVII<em>. Thank you thank you thank you. </em>Jon Wickenden XXVII looked from her to Domeric and back, and then he looked at Wallace. Wallace was there too, and his cousin Bryan Frey, who was taking pictures.</p><p>“Suit yourself, miss,” Jon Wickenden XXVII said. <em>Go away, </em>she thought. But Jon Wickenden XXVII didn’t go away. Jon Wickenden XXVII started talking to Wallace.</p><p>“Hi,” she said. Finally, she got to talk to him.</p><p>“Hey,” he said.</p><p>“Thank you,” she said, and then she smiled. “Looks like you’re everyone’s hero today. A knight in shining armor.” <em>My hero. My knight in shining armor.</em></p><p>“Looks like it.” <em>He’s not reacting he thought it was corny he thought it was too much oh no oh no oh no. </em>She tried again. <em>Robb said jousting, ask him about jousting.</em></p><p>“I – um – I heard – you joust? Like a real knight? Is that true? You like jousting?”</p><p><em>That</em> got a reaction out of him. Eyebrows up and a gleaming white smile, and then his eyes narrowed. <em>Perfect, perfect, perfect! </em></p><p>“I am the best jouster on the planet.”</p><p>Whatever Wallace and Jon Wickenden XXVII were talking about, they stopped.</p><p>“N-n-not ag-g-gain,” stammered Wallace.</p><p>“It’s not hard to be the best jouster on the planet when there are only like a hundred jousters on the planet,” said Jon Wickenden XXVII, laughing. Then he rolled his eyes. “Come on, Big Ballace, let’s bounce. We’re not about to listen Bolton sperg out about knights and horses for an hour.”</p><p>“D-d-definitely n-n-not.” With a flash of Bryan Frey’s camera, they disappeared.</p><p>“You’re the best jouster on the planet?” she said, and when he offered her his arm like a gentleman out of a black and white movie she took it.</p><p>“I am the best jouster on the planet.”</p><p>***</p><p>He took her to the library. Comfy velvet chairs and couches incandescent lamps wood paneled walls alcoves nooks crannies. A nice Lyseni window with two sets of curtains, one gauzy, one thick. The important part was by the window. A large tapestry of an Arryn and a Royce knight at the tilts, and a mock suit of armor next to it. Valyrian revival era. They had a thing for knights back then. <em>Retard you have a thing for knights now. </em></p><p>He put his drink down on a Dornish tile coaster, picked up the knight’s lance and <em>showed her</em>.</p><p>
  <em>So you know the BRDB horse program they have it for the lower school and the upper school too they do it all rodeo dressage you name it and they have jousting yeah I know KLA and Sunspear have equestrian too but you know BRDB is just all around better. Anyway yeah I did that during lower school I was super into the horse program super into jousting. Beat all the guys in the upper school even when I was eleven twelve thirteen fourteen you are right cutie I am just the best. Why’d I go to EP if they didn’t have a horse program well BRDB sucks at music and the arts and I really wanted to get big with the harp, still do, and I had to make a choice, and you know, there are stables everywhere, there’s one near EP, it was a hard choice but I’m happy with it. Yeah I can play for you sometime if you want, would you like that, cutie? Anyway in the spring when they’d have the Westeros History Week events I’d always go back to Barrowton for the tourney on closing weekend. Yeah I know there are tourneys everywhere but at Barrowton they’re real. Not that showy fake stuff with shirtless guys flexing on a horse. The real deal like with actual tourney lances and shields that break and you can fall and get a concussion and maybe even die. So how am I the best. Well cutie do you remember the millennium? It was my senior year at EP. Once in a lifetime tourney, guys from all over Westeros and even some from Essos. I won. I am the world tourney champion. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Did I crown anyone. Yeah. I always crowned my Aunt Barbrey. She’s the mayor of Barrowton.</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>“That’s so <em>cool,” </em>she said. <em>You’re so cool. </em></p><p>“Glad you think so, cutie,” he said. He gave the knight back his lance and</p><p>“You called me cutie,” she breathed.<em> That means he likes me right? </em></p><p><em>“</em>Because you’re cute, cutie.”</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em>What did DTM say. I have to neg her now. Why do I have to neg her now. I don’t want to neg her I want to tell her she’s gorgeous cutie I love you be mine forever be my wife have my babies. </em>
</p><p>“Even though you look like a fish.”</p><p>It didn’t work. She smiled and it was sunlight on the ocean again. “Yeah! That’s exactly what it’s supposed to be! So this dress, um, it was my mom’s, and you know she’s part of the Tully family so…”</p><p>Clothes? <em>Cutie I love clothes too I get all my suits bespoke I go meet the tailor we talk about my vision anything I care about is one of a kind. Holy shit she makes clothes? She made that Jonquil costume cutie did you know I love Florian and Jonquil yeah this is supposed to be Jonquil’s bird what do you mean you’ll make me a Florian costume if I want that’s so nice, yeah of course I want one how much do I have to pay you for it. I’m serious that must be at least a thousand dragons worth of work and materials cutie don’t do that for free you’ll get exploited.</em></p><p>***</p><p>She couldn’t stop smiling and her heart must have been beating a million times a minute. <em>He must like me. He touched my arm he touched my back he won’t stop touching me he must like me.</em> It was going so well she’d almost forgotten.</p><p>“Um, um.” It wasn’t coming out right. All the sound she could make was nervous laughter. “Um. So. Um. You, um, you met my brother Robb at White Harbor, right?”</p><p>“Yeah I remember him.” It was hard to word. She wanted to look away from his eyes but she couldn’t. They reminded her of the moon. Two pale rings of light, with two pupils, wide and dark, eclipsing their centers.</p><p>With shaking hands she pulled out her phone. “So. Um. Um, um.” She pulled up Robb’s screenshot. “Well, um. Um, um. Robb said – Robb said that you, um. You promised him to, um, hug me for him? And, um, I haven’t had a hug from you… so you still owe him one…”</p><p>She could barely hear her voice over the hammering of her heart.</p><p>“You want a hug from me, cutie.” She nodded like a little lamb. She could feel it – her pomegranate face.<em> That’s what Marge always called it…</em></p><p>“Come over here, then.” He put down his drink and sat down in the middle of one of the velvet couches. A two-seater. <em>A loveseat. </em>His legs were splayed out at a wide, jaunty angle. There was no room for her next to him. He opened his arms to her and she stepped forward.</p><p>***</p><p>She wound her arms around his neck and then all the lines of her met all the lines of him, and he leaned back into the pillowy velvet. His chest began to ache. His heart was beating too fast to give his body oxygen. He needed air, and so he breathed, and when he did, he breathed in <em>her</em>, and there it was again. <em>The grace of the gods. The light of the fucking Seven. </em>She exhaled, and on the air between them he caught lemons and sweetness.</p><p>He squeezed her tight so she couldn’t go but it seemed, he thought, he hoped, that she didn’t want to go. Her soft flesh yielded against him, but he could feel the tension there, in her muscles. The energy. She was pressing herself into him, squeezing him back, like hugging him was her only purpose in the world at that moment. She was almost too close for his eyes to focus on her face, but he could still see it. How her smile and her gaze lit her copper red crowning glory with a halo of their own radiance.</p><p><em>Sunlight on the ocean. Eyes like clear blue pools.</em> <em>Cutie can you feel it? I love you. </em>They locked eyes for a moment. She batted her eyelashes. Her breath hitched and then her face began to redden.</p><p>He slackened his grip. <em>Holy shit you hugged her too long you squeezed her too tight you were probably choking her or she felt your boner now she thinks you’re a creep.</em></p><p>“There’s your hug, cutie.”</p><p>***</p><p>She didn’t want to let go. He was so warm, so solid. He made the air around her drip with something sweet and pulled her in like an old-time radiator lined with magnets. <em>I thought he was going to kiss me</em>. There’d been a look in his eyes, tender and gentle, and a tiny smile tugging at his mouth. <em>Joffrey never looked at me like that. </em>The loss of his grip put her off balance, so she shifted her weight back onto her feet before settling her hips on his thigh. She never did let go.</p><p>After he let go he’d been so tense. Now she felt him relaxing, sinking back into the velvet cushions. He took a deep breath and then spoke again.</p><p>“You liked my hug, cutie.” Still, she could only nod. She’d lost the power of words.</p><p>“You wanna keep hugging me.” She couldn’t speak, but she could move her arms and press with her chest, and by the bunching of his fingers in her hair and the press of his palm against her side, she knew he’d heard her say yes.</p><p>“You want me to kiss you.” She couldn’t speak, but she could tell him with her eyes.</p><p>***</p><p>Her lips were soft. Smooth, no chapping. It figured. Sometimes she’d reach into her pocket and pout and make him envious of a fucking two-inch stick of Lipps brand lip balm – authentic Beesbury wax, colorless and scentless. She tasted like lemon and simple syrup and tonic water and he couldn’t get enough. He pulled her closer. No such thing as too close. With the tip of her tongue she stroked along the length of his, and the jolt went straight to his cock. Hot and wet. Her mouth was hot and wet. <em>Gods be good. </em>He needed her.</p><p>His hand was lost in a shimmery sheen of silver tassels that whispered as they moved. Her skirt had ridden up, and the two inches between the top of her ridiculous boots and the hem of her dress had become much more than a hand’s length. Underneath the cotton-polyester blend of her tights - cheap and thin and flimsy and not worth wearing - he could feel the tiny leaves and flowers laser-cut into the lace of her thong. <em>Fuck fuck fuck. </em>His other hand couldn’t be in her hair, not now. He snaked it down and pulled her forward. Fuck, her leg felt nice. <em>Why’d she have to wear those tights.</em> It didn’t matter, she was kissing him, she was straddling him, and if he weren’t wearing his fucking suit he’d be able to feel her hot, wet labes. <em>There, there, there.</em></p><p>He needed to breathe so he broke away, and then he pressed his nose into her glorious red hair so he could breathe in her.</p><p>***</p><p><em>Gods be good. Is that his penis? </em>In the back of her mind she knew it wasn’t something she ought be doing, but she couldn’t stop. She bit down on her lip, her breath coming out in shallow pants. <em>Almost, almost. </em> She could picture Mom’s sneer. <em>That’s not dancing, that’s coitus with clothes on. </em>She knew how it worked. Joffrey… it never felt so easy with Joffrey. <em>It never felt like this with Joffrey.</em></p><p>She put a hand on his and stroked his fingers, and then she squeezed. The other found sweat beading at his hairline.</p><p>“More kissing,” she murmured into his ear, all light and breathy. When his face came up his eyes were dark and feral, his mouth insistent. Below, his calloused fingers dug into the skin of her hips through her tights, grinding her down as he ground up. Each time they met she’d slide back along him just so, without much friction. It was easy. She was soaked through.</p><p>She was soaked through.</p><p>
  <em>Was it three weeks ago or four weeks ago? </em>
</p><p>She felt her heart stop. Her mouth stopped, her hands stopped, her hips stopped. Everything stopped. He pulled back, his arms went slack, his eyes surprised, concerned. She’d been leaning into him, and now she had to steady herself by bracing her hands on his shoulders.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she said. She stood and she felt the air raise gooseprickles up and down her arms. She pulled her skirt down and looked at the floor. <em>Oh no. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at anything. Just keep looking at the floor until you get to the bathroom. </em>“I have to go.”</p><p>***</p><p>If he closed his eyes he could still see her face. Tiny pupils brows knit together slanted upward lower lip quivering nostrils flaring scared scared scared. He could still feel the ghost of her touch against him. Her tongue going limp. Her hands going limp. The abrupt end to everything. She looked down flinched away ran away just like that first day he met her.</p><p>
  <em>You did that.</em>
</p><p>He could hear Mya yelling at him. <em>She’s afraid of guys and sex and thinks all guys are monsters Dom you jerk don’t talk to her don’t hit on her don’t be gross to her just avoid her if you have to she is a nice girl she was really hurt don’t you fucking dare let anyone touch her.</em></p><p>
  <em>Holy shit I am a terrible person.</em>
</p><p>He stood and cracked the window. The night air would do him good. Clear his head, cool him down. In the glass he saw his reflection, his eyes. Dad’s eyes. Ramsay’s eyes. <em>What were you thinking Ramsay mindset serial killer mindset dark triad mindset you are a fucking monster. She asked you for a kiss not for fucking dry sex that was fucking dry rape sexual assault they make you watch the video take the quiz every fucking semester. You could fucking get expelled go to jail Dad can’t just hush it up with money like he did with Ramsay her dad is Ned fucking Stark.</em></p><p>He knew that, but he didn’t <em>care</em> about that.</p><p>
  <em>You hurt her.</em>
</p><p>On the table, his drink. Old fashioned. “I didn’t want to,” he whispered. He poured the whiskey down a potted plant.</p><p>***</p><p>She had to peel her tights and thong off, and when she did, she could tell. <em>Not now. </em>But she checked anyway. Her fingers came away hot and slick and just tinged with streaks of the faintest brownish pink. <em>Oh. </em>It was a good thing they kept the house stocked with freebies.</p><p>She washed her hands and started back to the library. He’d probably left, but if he had, she could ask Wallace.</p><p>He hadn’t left. He was back by the tapestry of the knights at the tilts, and he held the empty helmet in his hands, staring into its visor like a rippled mirror.</p><p>“Hi,” she said. <em>I shouldn’t have just left like that, it’s fine, I’m sorry. </em>She wanted to say something to him but the air in the room had grown heavy, stifling. If she opened her mouth again, she would swallow rags of woven lead. She would choke and the choking weight would drag her to the ground. The incandescent light left the library glowing orange, but there was an invisible something hanging around him, a dark and murky miasma, thick and black and twisted.</p><p><em>Did I make him feel that way? </em>She shouldn’t have gone. She should have said something. <em>I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it. </em>She wanted to cross the room and hug him again, say <em>I’m sorry, I like you, it wasn’t you it was me, </em>but even with the distance the black thing touched her, and it said <em>stay away.</em></p><p>It took him a few moments to register her presence, and when he did, he gave the knight’s helmet back to its ghostly owner. He opened his mouth, as if he was about to say something, and then he closed it, and he glanced at her briefly, and then he looked at the window. His face grew apologetic. It was another while before he spoke again.</p><p>“I was just going,” he said. He passed her by but didn’t look at her. “I’ll see you on Warsday.”</p><p>***</p><p>“D-d-dom. How – how - how’d it g-g-go?” <em>Wallace go away I don’t want to talk to you I don’t want to talk to anyone I want to sleep on this wake up in a better mood a thinking mood I need to fix it I can’t fix it right now I’m too upset I’ll talk to you tomorrow when I’m capable of talking to someone without wanting to knock out their teeth okay Wallace please shut up.</em></p><p>“You okay man?” It was Mychel. He didn’t answer. Mychel turned to look at Wallace. “How’d what go?”</p><p>“La-la-lady stuff – ”</p><p>“Shut up, Wallace.”</p><p>“Dom. Come on that was rude – ” <em>Fuck you Mychel I’ll talk tomorrow right now I just want to fucking go to bed okay just let me get my coat. </em>But then Mychel’s gaze dropped, and his eyes narrowed. “What happened to your pants?”</p><p>He looked down. All along his right leg up to his crotch was a long, skinny, cornflower blue stain.</p><p>“I’ll get it dry cleaned.”</p><p>***</p><p>There was no point in being downstairs at the party anymore now that Domeric had gone. She said goodbye to Wallace, Mychel, and Mya and with a heavy heart walked upstairs alone. The whole thing was a mess<em>. It was going so well too. </em></p><p>Randa could help her fix it.                                                                                       </p><p>Randa’s room had a parlor attached to it. An antechamber. Ysilla and Cassandra were stretched out on the floor in their party dresses, barefoot, amidst a spread of notebooks and highlighters and flashcards and old tests and quizzes, lazily sipping glasses of Dornish strongwine. It looked like they were on their third bottle. There was an econometrics exam on Farsday.</p><p>She nearly tripped over one of Cassandra’s wedges.</p><p>“Sorry,” Cassandra said. Then she shoved her shoes under her coat. They had the same one. The waxed quilted Bulwer.</p><p>“Hi, Sansa,” Ysilla said, her eyes in her book. “What’s up?”</p><p>“I was looking for Randa.”</p><p>“Bathroom, just wait. She’s skinchanging.” Then – “you okay?”</p><p>Randa came out, face scrubbed pink and shining clean, fake eyelashes, hair extensions, jewelry all gone. EP crewneck and <em>Waterdancer</em> brand leggings. The Braavo line. She was clutching a glass of wine too. Her face lit up when she saw Sansa, and then it fell.</p><p>“Sansa, sweetie, what’s wrong? You looked so happy earlier.”</p><p>“I… um…”</p><p>“Did something happen. What happened. Who hurt you? Was it the guy? Is he downstairs? We’ll wreck him.” Randa was scowling.</p><p>“No – I mean – don’t wreck him… I really like him…” She still hadn’t totally recovered her power of speech. The ghost of the black thing downstairs stuck to her throat, the roof of her mouth, strangling her, suffocating her. In the end she just pulled out her phone and showed them. Randa scrunched up her nose and began to rant.</p><p>“Domeric, ugh, <em>of course</em> you’re not happy. He is <em>such</em> a weirdo, he spergs out about horses, he has a weird relationship with women, <em>ugh. </em>Once when he was drunk he made a comment about 13 year old girls like <em>I don’t see why it matters if you like them if they can menstruate, if they’ve got big tits and they’ve got wide hips it’s not a problem it’s not pedophilia they can have your babies</em> and then he goes on and on about biological age and brain age and how they are not the same as chronological age and how Bolton Corp goes down into Sothryos and harvests axolotls to keep your skin’s biological age down even though axolotls are endangered. Seriously Sansa stay away from him he literally wants to go back to a thousand years ago like he says on that fucking history podcast he is a misogynist it’s because his aunt is crazy and his mom is dead he has no women in his life and, and, that Walda stuff would fuck anyone up inside, Sansa you can do <em>so much better - </em>”</p><p> Cassandra’s ears piqued and then she began to rant as well. “Randa that was uncalled for, Dom is <em>literally the sweetest guy,</em> his mom died when he was eight you <em>can’t</em> say that! Yeah his aunt Barbrey’s kind of out there but Mee-maw Ryswell is so nice okay, it’s only because you slut it up that one year and he thought he was in love with you after one date and you traumatized him by hooking up with Lyle the next day that he’s weird around girls. Sansa you can like him if you want there’s nothing wrong with Dom – ”</p><p>
  <em>Domeric was in love with Randa?</em>
</p><p>But she couldn’t get a word in because Ysilla began to spit fire. “Holy shit Cass you <em>cannot</em> call Randa a slut. What did I tell you about slut shaming? That is <em>not okay</em>, doesn’t the Seven-Pointed star say you should be a meek maiden, merciful as the Mother, <em>holy shit</em> – ”.</p><p>They’d taken the conversation away from her. “Silla, please, language, language – um, um, um, yeah, Randa I’m really sorry I shouldn’t have called you a slut I didn’t mean it sorry we’ve all been drinking – ”</p><p>“Um – ” She looked at Randa and hoped the older girl understood. Randa’s eyebrows went up and she began to pat Sansa’s shoulder. Her hand missed the mark a few times.</p><p>“Sansa Sansa don’t worry, it’s okay, it’s fine, <em>sweetie please don’t be jealous</em> - yeah I did hook up with Domeric once, that was in prep school though, it was a long time ago. It's ancient history, I don’t care about it anymore – ”</p><p>Randa’s face was still shiny and pink. <em>They’re all drunk, </em>Sansa realized. <em>Maybe I shouldn’t tell them what happened. They’ve forgotten I was upset already.</em> She felt her pomegranate face coming on. She was going to excuse herself to go back to Woodhull but then Randa wrapped her in a squishy hug and started pinching her cheeks.</p><p><em>“</em>You’re so cute! Sansa you can literally have any guy you want and if the guy you want is Domeric Bolton we will make sure you get Domeric Bolton no matter how weird he is – ”</p><p>“No Dom is really great! He is not a weirdo he is actually super sweet, Sansa the misogyny stuff, all guys think that, it’s okay, Robar says that stuff too – ”</p><p>“No, Cass <em>you</em> are just a misogynist too, you’ve internalized it, oh my gosh Cass your <em>life.</em> You and Robar are literally setting back feminism, you are so smart you shouldn’t be just getting married at 21 it is really not cool for you to burn your internship offer letters and post the fire pit pic on Instagram do you know how hard people like Saffron work to get to where you are?”</p><p> “Mya is getting married too Randa that’s not fair – ”</p><p>“Mya and Mychel are going to be novices and Mya’s gonna do research on climate effects on mule epigenetics. It is <em>not</em> the same – ”</p><p>“You don’t even like Saffron, Randa, my <em>goodness,</em> why did you bring her up, this is her party, I thought we were done with that, we have to be <em>nice</em> – ”</p><p>Ysilla wasn’t having it.</p><p>“Come on Cass, Randa, <em>stop</em>. You’re not helping <em>at all.</em> Yes, Sansa, Domeric is a good guy deep down. But he is kind of weird. If you like him, you like him, that’s okay. I don’t know how you get past the fact that he’s got serial killer genes though, it’s really, uh, open minded of you, I couldn’t do it…”</p><p>“Serial killer genes?”</p><p>Ysilla, Randa, and Cassandra all looked at one another. “You don’t know? His brother is a serial killer,” Ysilla said.</p><p>“That’s not a joke?”</p><p>“No…” Ysilla grabbed her FossBook Air and motioned for her to sit down. “Domeric’s brother Ramsay is a serial killer. He’s his half-brother actually, he’s illegitimate. They don’t have the same mom. It’s not PC to call people bastards anymore, but that’s what he is. Ramsay. He is in jail right now. For life.”</p><p>“What did he… do?”</p><p>“He’s a serial killer,” said Cassandra, short and curt. Ysilla rolled her eyes.</p><p>“Let’s go look at RamsayFacts, it’s the best way to explain it. Ugh. I feel terrible about this, this blog makes Dom so uncomfortable. But it’s important information if you want to start anything with him.”</p><p>In the blue glow of her laptop screen, Ysilla’s eyes narrowed.  “Wait. The blog moved. Holy shit they’re sponsored by the WTHP now? What happened here? It doesn’t look the same...”</p><p><em>RamsayFacts has moved to DreamingOftheDreadfort dot tumblr dot com. </em>Ysilla clicked the link. <em>This Blog Knows No King But the Red King Whose Name is Bolton! </em>The page was pale pink with a menu bar at the top and a black and white lithograph of what must have been the Dreadfort.</p><p>“Blog rules? Blog Histsory? Submit a post? What <em>is this? </em>It’s so different…”</p><p> <em>No lewdposting about LL or QB. Only positivity about LL and QB! Thank you LL, BoltonCorp, and FCTC for your support!</em> <em>No negativity about M or QB. Their Red Queens are our Red Queens.</em> <em>Absolutely no brigading. No linking to QB’s Instagram.</em> <em>No linking to PrepConfessions. No linking to SoYouWannaBeaLady.</em> <em>No linking to the podcast.</em> <em>No politics unless it’s a historical issue or a transcript of the podcast. Always Cite Your Sources!</em></p><p>“What, they follow the podcast – ”</p><p>“Podcast?”</p><p>“Yeah, Dom does a history podcast with Sam Tarly at Oldtown – ”</p><p>“Just go to the about page oh my goodness Ysilla she wants to see RamsayFacts – ”</p><p>
  <em>As of post #619 we ran out of Ramsay Facts. We never got to post #666. Thus began our evolution from a Ramsay fan community to a Bolton fan community. RamsayFacts became BoltonFacts. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>We found out that our mail wasn’t getting to Ramsay because it was considered prohibited contraband. We still wanted to contact him, so we started sending him BoltonFacts, art, photographs, and the history of his family.  He really appreciates it and we’ve really made him happy in solitary. He even writes us all back sometimes and asks us specific research questions. Despite his reputation, Ramsay is a brilliant guy with an appreciation for his heritage.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Now, DreamingOftheDreadfort is an all Bolton fan blog, the #1 internet archive for all things House Bolton. </em>
</p><p>“Dom would have a field day with this,” Ysilla said.</p><p>
  <em>We’ve cleaned up this community to meet the standards of WHTP but if you’d like to join our casual discord just message the mods and we’ll give you the url.</em>
</p><p><em>History Tags</em>: <em>Dawn Age. Age of Heroes. Pre-Andal Invasion. Post-Andal Invasion. Age of Honor (Including First Targaryen Period). Free Cities Period. Targaryen Restoration. Revolution. Modern. Contemporary. Photos. Portraits. The Dreadfort. Apparel &amp; Artifacts. Essays. Military.</em></p><p><em>Other Tags</em>:<em> Domeric Experience. Inside at Bolton Corp. Red King of the Month. Bolton History Tour. Fiction: Historical. Fiction: RPF.</em></p><p>“Click on Domeric Experience,” Randa ordered.</p><p>
  <em>Part 1: Matching with Domeric on Tinder – What to Wear and Photo Strategies. Part 2: What to Do in Bed and LadyFlay’s Domeric Experience.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Domeric is the only Bolton you can access in the wild. Did you have a Domeric experience? Submit a post!</em>
</p><p><em>“Oh my gosh</em>,” Randa gushed. She shoved her hand onto Ysilla’s trackpad and aggressively clicked on Part 2. Then she made a face and began to read aloud.</p><p>
  <em>“‘So. If you’ve made it this far you know where to shop and what to buy. Think chunky pearls chunky headbands striped sweaters shift dresses preppy everything. Don’t buy it new! Support your local thrift store. Those girls go through clothes like toilet paper. Except for maybe Hunter boots, those are quality and the warranty’s great, they’ll last you forever, worth it IMO. </em>
</p><p><em>‘You know the best poses, the best smiles, the best angles. The best lighting, the best contouring. Recap: you want big bright eyes soft cheeks like you’re thirteen or something. Nothing too heavy. Big bright smile too. Enthusiasm. Go look at promo shots from teenie bopper boy band groupies and practice in the mirror. All that while optimizing your bust-waist-hip ratio. Big little big as extreme as you can go. Not thirteen! Use makeup on your cleavage if you have to.’ </em>Oh my gosh, I can’t, I can’t  - ”</p><p><em>I can’t listen to this, </em>Sansa thought. “Um, can I go <em>– ”</em></p><p>“No, no, it’s too good – ”</p><p>“Yeah, Sansa, uh, this is pretty funny,” Ysilla said. She poured herself another glass of wine. Cassandra had put in her headphones and was scowling at her econometrics book.</p><p>“‘<em>But that’s not what you’re here for. On to the main event. Well, those of you old time followers know, but for those of you who are new – this was actually my second Domeric experience. The first was pre-M. I was nervous when we met at the hostel in Gulltown I booked for the weekend, but there was no need. He didn’t recognize me. You all know my story. Washed the dye out of my hair, I’m natty again. A few tats removed. Got clean, started lifting, gained some weight, muscle and fat. Had a baby, picked up fenugreek, got me some knockers. Whoa whoa whoa did he go to town on the girls. It was nothing like the experience pre-M. He knows what he is doing now. He’s a maniac with the paddle and the gag. It must have been M. And gods be good is he thick…’”</em></p><p>“Gods be good,” Ysilla echoed, covering her mouth, her eyes darting back and forth, reading ahead. <em>She’s as red as I am.</em> Then she took a breath and looked at Sansa. “Um, Randa, are you sure we should be reading this?”</p><p>But Randa ignored her, and she downed another glass herself. “This part. This part. Ysilla. <em>Gods be good </em>we can’t just stop now – ‘<em>So the important thing is not to pressure him into anything. A lot of us remember killing the mood when we asked for choking. Don’t do that. Just let him steer the whole thing. If you let him act out his alpha male power fantasy the whole thing is just better. That guy lives in his head, you get his head in the right space, and just, whoa, the energy, you can feel it.’  </em>You can feel the energy? What does that even mean?”</p><p>“Randa you <em>can’t </em>read that next part.”</p><p>“Ugh, <em>fine.” </em>Then Randa started to giggle. “This part – ”</p><p>“That part’s okay.”</p><p>“<em>So you all know he has this new thing where he blocks gals after he hooks up with them. I asked him about that, it’s real. Never the same girl twice if she’s not one true love material. Whore, madonna, etc. Well, I was planning on making the most of my Domeric experience before I got blocked. You all know me, I do have a history novice’s, I do takedowns of the stuff on the podcast on my personal blog. I thought, maybe I could get him to change his mind about anarchofeudalism while he’s all cumbrained and sleepy but boy was I wrong. He brought the bantz, I was the one with cumbrain. Apparently you accept whatever shit comes out of a guy’s mouth if he just painted you white inside. I am so embarrassed it’s disappointing. Oh yeah, he’ll pay you extra if you let him raw, that’s important. Try to recoup your travel costs.’ </em>Gods be good, this girl goes off topic but that is hilarious… Oh, <em>here </em>we go. ‘<em>After that he got kind of sentimental, like he really enjoyed me listening to his drivel. It was kind of cute to hear him nerd out but… gross, anarchofeudalism.’”</em></p><p>“She’s got that right. Keep reading.” Ysilla was giggling too.</p><p>“‘<em>Then it got weird, he started asking me about my son, I told him that was off limits, but what he was really after was what it was like to be a parent. Have a kid, all that. I could tell this guy really wants kids. I guess it fits, he wants his lady love to ride into the sunset with, a ton of kids kind of goes with that. I left and took his money but whoa did it feel bad. He’s a couple years younger than I am, I wanted to tell him he’d be fine, he’s a hot guy with money, he’ll have no trouble finding a wife but as I said you can tell he lives in his head and kind of gets down on himself. It was sad. I wanted to give him a hug but the boundaries were already slipping and we all know how he reacted to the M stuff. As a Bolton fan I am really rooting for Domeric to find his Red Queen, his one true love, what have you. Not just so we can have another Red Wedding and Debonair photoshoot and a glamour video to make gifsets out of, but because even beyond that… he wants to find her. I started out as a Ramsay fan, became a Roose fan, a general Bolton fan, now I’m a Domeric fan too, and as a fan… I want him to get what he wants.</em></p><p>
  <em>‘Whoops I almost forgot. He took pictures to share with his friends. I had him black out the faces on the photo app while I watched and he sent me all of them. You can find them at <span class="u">this link</span> on my personal. Very NSFW, enjoy.’”</em>
</p><p>“Randa you’re <em>not </em>clicking that.” Ysilla sounded indignant. The Royce cousins’ giddiness had dampened. Randa looked like she was about to cry.</p><p>“Of course I’m not clicking it,” she said into her wine. “Gods be good. Dom – ” but then Randa seemed to remember she was there, and her face crumpled in horrified guilt. “Gods be good Sansa <em>I am so sorry, </em>we got really carried away<em> – ”</em></p><p>“Sansa we’re so sorry – ”</p><p>“It’s fine,” she said, but she didn’t know what more to say. “I think I’m gonna go.”</p><p>“Wait – ” but she was already in the hallway. She grabbed her coat and snuck through the party out the door.</p><p>She didn’t know how to feel.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warnings:<br/>- casual reference to bulimia/purging. The characters [not Sansa] treat purging as normal and routine even though it's not. If you have an eating disorder please get help. Treating purging like this was what I saw when I was at prep school.<br/>-  an alcohol fueled drunken hookup where verbal consent is not obtained before frottage ensues and Domeric feels TERRIBLE about it<br/>- I repeated the 'Sansa thinks she's on her period' joke because I'm not good at coming up with jokes<br/>- The whole scene at the end is a very uncomfortable situation where the drunk Royce cousins go down the internet rabbit hole to explain Domeric's serial killer genes thing and end up reading a RamsayFacts fangirl's account of sex with Domeric for cash and forget that poor Sansa is there. They also feel TERRIBLE about it.</p><p>Those are the most sordid things in the chapter.</p><p>Other stuff that's going on - I really enjoyed describing the Jeyne Arryn house and everyone's clothes. And the diving falcon fountain. It probably contributed to the verbosity of this chapter but... oh well.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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